


Official Recuiter

by Captain_Author



Series: Gasoline [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 'cause in my mind the show ended at series 2, Crossover, Fanfic, Fanfiction, Gen, crossover fanfiction, deviates from series 3, just a little bit of an au, slight AU, the last two seasons were...not good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 14:46:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 49,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16348706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Author/pseuds/Captain_Author
Summary: Crimes were so simple before aliens, gods, and supernatural abilities made themselves known. But Sherlock Holmes never enjoyed simple and these inhumans and mutants provided quite a challenge. SHIELD needed someone to find the superpowered. Funny how both their needs can be met. **Story I started posted on fanfiction.net two years ago, just now getting around to posting it on AO3.





	1. Prologue (1)

** Timeline: **

** SH: Post-Reichenbach, but does not follow series 3. **

** MCU: Post-Civil War **

** Ships: None **

** Please enjoy! **

Patiently waiting for a case had paid off, because it wasn't long before Lestrade was on the threshold of 221B asking for Sherlock's help in a case. The scene of the death wasn't far so it took a short cab ride of a few minutes for the three of them to get there and the consulting detective was instantly all over the scene before they'd even entered the building. After throwing a few quick insults at Anderson and Donovan, Sherlock led the group headed into the building, up the stairs, and onto the crime scene.

As soon as the genius saw the body he got to work, crouching down and examining all possibilities. The DI and the blogger watched on as Sherlock worked intently. The victim had to have been underage, which made the whole situation a bit more solemn. She was lying on her back with her limbs sprawled out, eyes shut peacefully. The teen wore a white  _Shakespeare's Globe Theatre_  t-shirt and maroon gym shorts with the words  _Pygone High School_  on the left pant-leg. Sherlock's eyes processed her clothing then moved on to the clunky metal bracelet she wore.

"Well?" Lestrade questioned.

"This is definitely worth calling me in for," the genius quickly replied, going over the conditions of her skin.

Lestrade ran a hand over his face. "Which means it's stranger than I initially thought. Great." John couldn't help but crack a smile. Sherlock gave the body one last look before standing up. "So what have you gathered?"

Sherlock turned to John. "How long would you say she's been dead?"

John stepped over to the body and crouched down to get a better look. "Um, about an hour. Not very long, at least."

Sherlock began pacing the room. "Which doesn't make sense."

"What do you mean?" Lestrade asked.

The consulting detective halted and began to explain. "The dust pattern near the door doesn't indicate any entry within the last hour and I've already accounted for us and the witness who found the body, so how did she get in?" he questioned, gesturing around the windowless room. He pointed down to the girl's neck and shoulders. "She also has a sunburn and it isn't exactly a sunny time of year."

"She could have been traveling," suggested John.

"No, she has sunscreen still clearly visible so she's applied within the last few hours. Not to mention her shoes. She's been dead for around an hour and it's been raining heavily for over two and a half but there's no sign of her having been out in it. There's also evidence of leftover makeup and her manicure is recent, so she cares about her appearance. But look at her clothes – she wouldn't walk around in public like that. Looking at the grass stain pattern on her sneakers and ankles I'd say she was running, but she wasn't going on any planned jog. Dirt on her knees and under her nails indicate she was working outdoors – the pollen on her shorts and bee sting on her leg points to the obvious conclusion of gardening."

"Yeah, obvious," Lestrade mumbled sarcastically under his breath. Sherlock either ignored him or simply didn't hear, too far gone in his deductions.

"So this teen is working in her garden out in the sun for an extended time and gets burned. Something startles her enough to get her up and running."

"Bee sting?" suggested John. "It could have shocked her – caused her to panic some."

"Unlikely. If she's an avid gardener she is likely use to stings. It's more possible she saw something or someone that scared her enough to cause her to run. Somehow she ends up here and dies from an electric shock emanating from her bracelet," he finished off with a flourish.

John and Lestrade look down at the large, metal bracelet on the teen's wrist. Lestrade lowered his head and shook it. "Poor kid…"

"I take it no ID," said Sherlock, getting close to the body again.

"Erm, no. We'll be doing fingerprints and DNA after we finish up here."

Sherlock noticed something misshapen about her shirt and reached under, pulling out a phone tucked into the girl's bra. He stood up and waved it at Lestrade. "Here's some identification for you." He took off the case of the iPhone and read off the name engraved on the back. "Juliet Michelson." Sherlock handed the phone off as he began to head out the door. "Oh, and she's also American."

Both Lestrade and John looked surprised by deduction. "American?" Lestrade questioned.

"Yes, of course. The west, likely. I'd bet on either Nevada or California. _Pygone High School_?"

"There are some high schools in the UK," Lestrade defended.

"None that are sunny enough to burn someone at this time of year," Sherlock retorted. "I trust you'll keep me updated on anything else you find. I'd also like photographs of the body to examine as well as the bracelet once you're done with it." He left the room and called out behind him. "Come along, John!" The blogger quickly followed.

Sherlock was spouting off theories and details as the two exited the building. "One moment she's running from something and next she's in London, dead from electrocution. This is an eight at least!" He clapped his hands together. "Oh, it's Christmas!"

Anderson watched gloomily from behind the police tape as the duo hailed a cab and left. He pulled out his cellphone and hit a speed dial. The other end picked up quickly. "Sir, Holmes is getting involved with a case that involves – er – us. Do you want me to tell him? …O-Of course…yes, I will, sir…Thank you, sir."

The idiotic "forensic scientist" pocketed his phone with a not-so-happy expression on his face.


	2. Prologue (2)

All was tranquil on Baker Street save it for the frantic rustling of papers as a certain consulting detective pinned news articles, research papers, and photographs on the wall above the couch. Despite it being nearly eleven at night, the genius's mind was racing, refusing to succumb to the body's needs. Yarn was strung between pictures and diagrams. One recurring theme was the symbol on the victim's bracelet. It had been found on two other bodies in the last month – one died of tuberculosis and the other was in a car accident – and it could hardly be a coincidence.

John was seated in his usual chair with his laptop open, typing away about the case at hand. It was nearly silent when Sherlock let out a frustrated growl and yanked down a closeup of the symbol. As he began to pace as he stared intently at the picture. John looked up over the edge of his computer and over at his flatmate. "I've seen this somewhere before," Sherlock murmured under his breath, photograph up to his face. He plopped down onto the couch and continued to examine the engraving on the bracelet.

He swung his legs up onto the couch, lying his head back onto the arm rest. The genius brought his hands up under his chin. "I'll be heading into my mind palace if you need me."

"Not that I'll be able to get your attention," John muttered.

The blogger enjoyed the quiet for a mere half hour before Sherlock leapt up off the couch, clutching the photograph in his hand. John looked up at his flatmate. "You find it?"

"An icosahedron," Sherlock answered promptly. "Geometric vector often representing water and traits associated to it."

"Okay…so what's the importance of the shape?"

Sherlock began pacing the floor. "That's what I aim to find out. Three bodies in the last month have been found with this symbol somewhere on their person – a tattoo, a slip of paper, and a bracelet – they have to be connected somehow."

"Well, maybe it's some kind of – I dunno – club?" suggested John.

"One of the victims was from across the Atlantic," Sherlock reminded. "I doubt they had weekly meetings. No, it's something else." He approached his makeshift evidence board. "How did she end up there?…" Sherlock tapped on one of the photos of the crime scene. "That's the major question."

A knock at the threshold caused both men to turn. Mrs. Hudson stood at the door. "Sorry, I think the doorbell's broken again. You've got visitors."

"Show them up, Mrs. Hudson."

"Thank you," John called out after her as their landlady headed back down the stairs. He shot Sherlock a look.

Two men walked up the stairs and into the flat and John stood to greet them. The consulting detective looked over and instantly glared. "What are you doing here," he sneered at Anderson.

The man standing in front of the forensic scientist stepped forward. "He's with me," the man stated calmly, folder tucked safely under his arm.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "American," he noted upon hearing his accent. "You have something about the Michelson case."

"You could say that," the man said with a shrug. He extended his hand. "Agent Phil Coulson." After a few awkward moments of Sherlock not accepting the gesture, John shook his hand instead.

"Pleasure meeting you," said John. "I'm–"

"Doctor Watson and Sherlock Holmes," Agent Coulson said with a grin. "I'm honoured to finally meet you both."

"Who do you work for?" Sherlock said before John could reply.

"SHIELD," Coulson answered. "I'm going to assume you've heard of it."

"I have."

Coulson smiled and nodded. "Then you'll know why I'm here."

Sherlock glared. "My original question still stands." He jerked his head towards Anderson. "What is he doing here?"

Anderson's hands balled into fists. "It just so happens my boss asked me to come with him."

John clearly looked very confused. "I'm sorry – boss?" His eyes flickered between Coulson and Anderson as Sherlock's did the same.

Coulson stepped further into the flat and gestured to the couch. "Do you mind if I…?" his question trailed off.

"Oh, of course," said John. The agent smiled and nodded in thanks, taking a seat on the piece of furniture. Sherlock took a few moments to stare Anderson down before the forensic scientist huffed and sat down next to Coulson.

Sherlock sulked over to his usual seat and studied the two guests intently. John cleared his throat. "You want anything? Tea?" he offered.

"No thank you," the agent said kindly. "I'm here on business."

"Obviously," Sherlock scoffed. "Now, Agent Coulson, why would the man who assembled the Avengers have a connection to that idiot–" he jerked his head towards Anderson, "– and what do you want with me?"

John's eyes went wide and he looked towards Sherlock. Coulson smirked. "They did say you were good." He leaned back into the cushions and folded his hands. "Mr. Holmes, SHIELD has had an eye on you through Agent Anderson for a long time now."

John spluttered and even Sherlock looked mildly shocked. "That's why you were never fired," Sherlock concluded after a few moments, "someone of higher power was keeping you in place. Forensic science wasn't your original position considering how awful you were at it."

"Of course it wasn't," Anderson shot back. "There was an open position and my superiors needed me on the inside."

"Wait," said John, "if you're here on Sherlock's behalf why are you so…" he trailed off, not sure how to phrase the sentence without insulting the man.

Anderson rolled his eyes. "Just because I'm required to keep tabs on him doesn't mean I have to like him." He shot the consultant a look.

Coulson cleared his throat pointedly and Anderson's mouth snapped shut. He frowned, folding his arms and leaning back into the couch. Coulson turned to look towards Sherlock and John again. "SHIELD wants to offer you a job."

"Not interested."

"I do believe our proposition will intrigue you." Coulson pulled the folder out from under his arm and stood, handing it over to Sherlock. The genius accepted the file and opened it, flipping through the papers. "You crave puzzles and, let me assure you, mutants provide those."

"Juliet Michelson was a mutant, wasn't she?" It was more of a statement than a question.

"That's correct," Coulson confirmed. "She had the ability of teleportation."

"Which explains why she ended up in another country in seemingly an instant." He looked up from the files. "Thank you for ruining the puzzle for me."

Anderson scoffed and both Coulson and Sherlock shot him a look, Sherlock's gaze more aggressive of course. "Mr. Holmes, we need you to find who killed Juliet Michelson – she wasn't the only one. SHIELD has reason to believe the man who died of tuberculosis last week – Jacob Rytrot – was another victim."

"The icosahedron links them."

Coulson nodded. "We want you to track that organisation down as well as inform us of any mutants that make themselves known. We know you can; you tracked down and dismantled James Moriarty's web with fair ease."

"I'd hardly consider it that."

Coulson stood and Anderson followed his actions. "Well, if you change your mind and want to take the case, let Anderson or I," he took a card from our of his breast pocket, setting it down on the coffee table, "know." He smiled kindly and he and the undercover agent left.

As soon as the sound of the front door closing echoed through the flat John turned around to Sherlock, not sure what to say. "…So…you taking the offer?" he settled on asking.

Pensive, Sherlock stared at the card on the table before picking it up and fiddling with it in his hands. He looked up at his evidence board, eyes skimming over all the work he'd done. Eventually, he came to an answer.

"Yes."


	3. Mirror Murder

Two weeks after Agent Coulson had stopped by and recruited Sherlock, John found the detective continuing to add the the makeshift evidence board that was still hung up on the wall above the couch. The stroppy detective had been waiting for a new case and nothing had arisen, leading him to fall into one of his bad moods. Not a whole lot of new information had come up regarding the Michelson case and the trail had gone cold; the fact that it was unsolved aggravated the detective every day.

John was reaching his limit listening to Sherlock complain when Lestrade stopped by with a case to save the day.

There was a murder in South London and it looked anything but normal. Sherlock, John, and Lestrade sat in 221B examining photos of the crime scene. "When we showed up the dust stirred, erasing what little strange evidence we did have," Lestrade explained. He handed Sherlock a picture. "But we managed to snap a few pictures."

The victim was lying face down on the floor with evidence of a scuffle around him. To and from the body, imprinted in the dust and dirt, were footprints. The other photos went to show that the footprints led to and from a large mirror on the wall.

"Victim's name was Evan Warren. Locked room," said Lestrade, "no signs of forced entry and there were no windows." Sherlock continued to flip through the pictures. "What do you make of it?"

Sherlock slapped down the photographs. "I take it the body's been taken to the morgue."

"It has."

Sherlock stood and walked over to the hook which he jacket hung. Along the way he shrugged off his robe and it landed soundlessly on the floor. "I'll head over to examine it now – don't feel the need to follow." Tugging his jacket on he looked over to John and jerked his head to the door. "Let's take a look at that body."

-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-

It didn't take much convincing to get Molly to let the detective and blogger have a look at the body. The pathologist pulled back the cloth over the body and Sherlock instantly got to work.

_Cause of death: Knife wound to throat_

_Owner of two cats_

_Recently divorced_

_Works indoors (desk job)_

_Icosahedron tattoo_

Sherlock halted and stared at the victim's left arm. "John…"

The doctor looked over and froze. "It's the same symbol."

"What, so he's connected to the Michelson murder?" John questioned.

"He's related somehow." He pointed to where the tattoo was placed – which was the inner-forearm. "This tattoo is in the same part of the body as Garret Vales."

"What, the man who died in the car accident a while back?"

"That's the one." The duo stared at the body for a few moments longer. "I need to find what this symbol represents," Sherlock determined, "it's the keystone to the problem. Once I figure out what it means everything else should fall into place." He turned and quickly walked to the door.

John began to follow before calling out behind him," Thank you, Molly."

The pathologist shook her head. "No problem…"

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The next day John found Sherlock continuing to stare at the evidence board on the wall (to which the new photographs had been added). The blogger picked up the news article lying on the table. The headline read:  **Mysterious locked room murder! A killer that can walk through walls?**

John held up the paper for Sherlock to see. "You take a look at this?" he questioned.

Sherlock briefly glanced over his shoulder then went back to his work. "Yes, the papers do always seem to exaggerate, don't they?"

John set the paper down on the table again. "Well, maybe they aren't exaggerating – well, unknowingly. Who knows? Maybe this killer really can walk through walls."

There was a long silence between the two and for a while John had simply concluded the detective had ignored him. Then Sherlock turned around. "John, you're brilliant."

"Hm?"

Sherlock dashed to the photographs of the latest crime and took them down from the wall and examined them closely. "The footprints, John. There's no doubt the killer was a mutant – the chances they weren't are extremely low – so it's quite likely they used their abilities to commit the crime." He walked quickly over to his flatmate and pointed the photos. "The footprints, look at the footprints!"

John took the picture from Sherlock's hand and his eyes skimmed over it. "They're to and from the mirror…" He raised an eyebrow at the detective. "You aren't seriously suggesting–"

"I was hardly the one who suggested it John," Sherlock pointed out, gesturing to the newspaper.

The sound of thudding footsteps on the staircase caused both men to turn. Lestrade soon stood in the doorway. "There's been a second killing," Sherlock said, before the DI could speak. Lestrade simply nodded. "And it was exactly the same?"

"Yes."

"Identical?"

"Of course."

"Did he have the same tattoo as the last victim?"

"Yes."

"We're the footprints just as the last murder?"

"What?"

"The footprints, Lestrade!"

"Er, yeah," he said. "Yeah, the only sign of someone else in the room was near the body and a mirror."

Sherlock clapped his hands together and grinned manically. "Yes! Perfect!" He took the photos back from John and headed over to the evidence board and began pinning them up again. "I won't be needing to take at the crime scene, Inspector, I've nearly figured it out."

Lestrade nodded slowly. "Right…" He cleared his throat. "In that case I'll be off. Sent me a message when you've got it, yeah?"

"Of course."

Lestrade gave John a smile and went back out of the flat. John turned to his flatmate. "You've nearly figured it out?" he questioned.

Sherlock was looking back and forth between his evidence wall and the fireplace. "Yes, of course. Didn't you hear me?" He rushed over to the fireplace and began readjusting the mirror that hung over it. He looked over his shoulder, trying to find the right angle. "I suspect we'll have the killer soon."

"You do?" John asked.

Sherlock walked over to the couch and stood in front of it, staring into the mirror. "If he follows his pattern of associating with the icosahedron, which I'm certain he will." He grinned at his flatmate. "Tonight would be a good night to do it."

"Do what, exactly?"

"Come after me," answered Sherlock, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I'm sorry, what?" John questioned in shock. "Why would you be a target?"

Sherlock placed his hands under his chin in his classic ' _thinking pose_.' "John, go stand directly in front of the fireplace." John humphed but did as the detective asked. He turned around to face Sherlock. "Now," the detective stepped to the side, "if you're looking straight ahead, what do you see?"

John looked over at the evidence wall. "All the pictures, papers, and maps you put up."

"But specifically…?"

"Um…the photos of the crime scene and the tattoo."

Sherlock grinned. "Exactly."

John's eyes widened. "What, you mean you're  _trying_  to attract the killer?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Yes, so we can restrain him, of course."

John shook his head and ran a hand over his face. "If you want to summon a murdering superhuman that's on you." He snatched up his phone and began heading up the stairs to his room.

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That night was eventful. John had nearly drifted off to sleep several times, only to be awoken by noises from downstairs. By midnight he was a little more than angry at the consulting detective and marched downstairs to give his flatmate a good talking to. When he entered the living room for a moment Sherlock couldn't be found. However, the blogger quickly located the detective in the kitchen.

Before John could even get anything out of his mouth, Sherlock spoke. "John, it shouldn't be much longer."

The doctor folded his arms. "Much longer before what?"

Sherlock looked over at John. "The killer makes himself known." John sighed and rolled his eyes. "Of herself," Sherlock said (mostly to himself), "although the murderer being male is statistically more likely–"

"Sherlock, even you need sleep sometimes," John interrupted.

Sherlock's gaze drifted over to the living room. "John."

"No, Sherlock," the doctor persisted, "you actually need to take into account what your body needs for once."

"John–"

"I don't care if it's 'transport,' it's what keeping you going on your feet, so you'd better get to sleep tonight or so help me–"

Sherlock stood, abruptly cutting off his flatmate's rant. "John!"

The blogger noticed where his friend's line of eyesight was and turned around. There stood a man in their living room, pulling his hand out of the mirror. The towering man glowered down on the two. "What do you know about that symbol?" he questioned, jerking his head towards the evidence board. John's eyes flickered between the photos and the mutant in the room. On the other hand, Sherlock was surprisingly collected.

"Just about nothing," he confessed. John turned to his friend in shock. "I was hoping you would enlighten us."

"You're a copper," the man accused.

Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Hardly. And you're the man who killed Evan Warren."

The man seemed to growl. "That monster deserved to die."

"Why?"

"I ain't tellin' you!" The killer lunged for Sherlock who ducked out of the way.

"John, the mirror!" Sherlock called out.

Both John and the killer looked over at the the mirror where the murderer had come from. Catching Sherlock's train of thought, John leapt for the fire pokers, snatched one up, and smashed it into the mirror, causing it to killer yelled out in anger and abandoned his attempt on Sherlock and moved on to John. He pulled a knife from his pocket, ready to strike.

Luckily, he was completely inexperienced and up against a soldier so John easily disarmed the man.

Two against one could hardly be considered fair, but the tenants of 221B overpowered the mutant, rendering him unconscious. Sherlock scoffed. "Amateur," he mumbled under his breath.

-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-

"So, how'd he know to come and get you?" Lestrade questioned as some other cops ushered the man away in handcuffs.

"Must've caught wind I was on the case," Sherlock said with a shrug. "I'm easier to find than a cop."

Lestrade had his 'I-know-you're-lying-to-me-but-I'm-simply-not-going-to-question-it' face and John understood the facial cue. He cleared his throat. "Thank you though, for coming to help us out," he said.

The inspector sighed. "Not a problem – I would've ended up with him anyway." He thanked the two again and trotted down the stairs. As Lestrade headed down, Anderson came on up. Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Why are you here?" he sneered.

"You know very well why," Anderson snapped back. He paused the jerked his head down the stairs. "SHIELD will take care of this."

"Of course," John cut in before Sherlock could throw any more insults around. "Keep him away from mirrors. We don't think he can travel through all reflections, but definitely mirrors." He glanced over at the mess of glass on the floor and on the mantel.

Anderson nodded. "Yeah, we'll make sure of that." Without anything more he turned on his heel and left, determined to leave the flat.

John looked over to Sherlock who walked over the window and watched the cop cars drive off. The doctor couldn't exactly think of anything to say, then decided there was nothing to be said and went upstairs into his room.


	4. How 'Bout That Weather?

Considering it was November, it was quite warm in London. In fact, unnaturally warm. There hadn't been a single snowfall yet and it was beginning to baffle meteorologists. Not that Sherlock Holmes was interested in such trivial things as the weather.

That was, until it started affecting him.

The temperature continued to rise rather than fall as it should, and in the middle of November, it was too hot for Sherlock to wear the coat or scarf. It was making him grumpy and soon he searched for answers to no avail. The entire world was baffled that only England was affected by what several people claimed to be global warming. It just wasn't right. Luckily, answers surfaced after a week of torture.

Sherlock's phone which sat on the table in the living room began to ring. John was sitting across from it and looked over the top of his laptop at it. Sherlock came in from the kitchen where he was conducting an experiment and answered it. "Sherlock Holmes."

_ "It's Coulson – I think I've got something for you to look into." _

"The weather, yes?"

_ "Yes. It's unnatural on its own, then SHIELD pinpointed an epicentre. I'm sending you the info now."  _ Sherlock's phone chimed and he took it down from his ear, opening the file that had just been sent to him.

"Who was that?" John asked.

"Agent Coulson." Sherlock's eyes scanned over the map on his phone. "He has a case for us."

The blogger sat up straighter. "Oh?"

"The weather," Sherlock replied. He pocketed his phone and headed for the door. "SHIELD believes there is something or someone causing it," he stopped at the doorway and turned back, "and we're going to find out what."

-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-/:\\-

Sherlock double checked his phone as he and John approached an old warehouse on the outskirts of the city. It was quite warm and it was only getting hotter the closer the two got to the building. John couldn't understand how Sherlock was still upright in the suit he was wearing. "This should be it," said the detective, looking up at the warehouse. He turned to John. "Have you got your gun?"

"Of course I have my gun," John mumbled, pulling it out from his jeans.

Sherlock smirked. "Well, let's bring the weather to order." He pushed the door open and silently entered the building, John backing him up.

Near the center of the warehouse, there was a figure kneeling on the ground, curled up on themselves. Sherlock and John shared a look. "Hello?" John called out. The figure stiffened then turned around.

The man had a thin layer of sweat on his skin and was shaking. As soon as his manic eyes landed on the gun in John's hands he began to scramble away. John realised his mistake and stowed his weapon away.

"What's your name?" questioned Sherlock, putting out a hand and cautiously approaching.

The man gaped for a couple of moments before responding. "R-Ross."

Sherlock nodded. "Ross, do you understand what's going on?"

"I'm one of them…" he muttered. "No, I'm one of them!" He curled further in on himself.

John stepped forward. "What do you mean one of them?" he asked. He had nearly reached the panicking man.

"I'm a – I'm a mutant. I-I didn't…" Ross looked down at himself and shook. "I'm not…human."

John kneeled down next to the man. "Yes you are," he insisted. "You are no less human than he or I are," he said, gesturing to Sherlock.

"I didn't think I'd have it, I–" he cut off with a sob. "God, my kids!" He grabbed his head. "My kids might be – might be…" Ross lowered his head into his knees, sobbing.

Cautiously, John put a hand on the man's shoulder. Ross flinched but otherwise didn't react. "You have kids?" Ross nodded, face still in his knees. "They need their father, don't they?"

Ross shook his head. "Not me – not a monster like me."

"You are not a monster," John said firmly. "There are people in the world just like you – you aren't alone."

Ross raised his head and ran a hand over his tear-filled eyes. "Even though my mother…I thought I wouldn't have it," he muttered. "I-I didn't think it was genetic." Ross looked up at John in fear. "What if I cause my kids to be just like me?" he said barely above a whisper.

John tightened his grip on Ross's shoulder. "Then they'll need you even more," he said softly.

Something must have struck a chord with the panicking inhuman because the surrounding air became noticeably cooler. John turned around and made eye contact with Sherlock. The detective nodded, encouraging John to keep doing what he was doing.

John turned back to Ross. "How old are your kids?" he asked.

"Five and ten," Ross mumbled.

"They need their father," John insisted.

Ross nodded, staring at the ground. "Little Rosie must be so scared," muttered Ross, clasping his hands together.

"Is that your daughter?" John asked softly.

Ross smiled. "Yes. She's a sweetheart. I-I told her brother to take care of her." Ross looked back up at John. "But I should do that."

That was the breakthrough.

A gust of freezing air swept through the warehouse and the temperature instantly felt as it should. As he did all he could to prevent his teeth from chattering, John helped Ross to his feet. Ross broke down into tears and fell into the blogger. John caught the younger man and kept him upright. "How 'bout we get you a cab, alright?" John led Ross out of the building with Sherlock trailing behind.

After John had hailed a cab for Ross and handed him enough money to cover the fare, Sherlock cleared his throat. "What you did, that-that was…"

John gave a sad sort of smile and looked up at his friend. "Yeah, it was good."

Sherlock nodded. "We'll inform SHIELD of him, of course."

"Of course," John agreed with a nod. "But we should make sure they don't bother him. He's been through enough right now."

Sherlock simply 'hmm'ed in response. He looked over at John who was shivering. "I suppose we should head back to the flat and contact Agent Coulson."

"Yes, that sounds like a plan."

Sherlock looked up and saw that snow was beginning to fall. He smirked a bit. "Looks like London's getting its first snowfall of the season," he said as he hailed a cab.

"Yeah, well it's a little late if you ask me," John commented.

The two snickered as a cab pulled up to the curb. With satisfied smiles on their faces, the detective and the blogger headed home.


	5. Prologue (1)

_ "Late last night three boats sunk on the Thames,"  _ the reporter on the television explained, _"and although there is no connection to be found between them, the police are beginning an investigation…"_ The television drawled on quietly until John entered from the kitchen and turned up the volume. Walking back into the kitchen to finish making his tea, John continued listening to the report.

_ "Several eyewitnesses claim the boats were taken down by some sort of creature," _  the reporter continued.

John raised an eyebrow and turned to look at his flatmate who was staring intently into his microscope. "Well, that sounds like a hoax." He waited for a response from Sherlock but when he didn't get one he continued. "Sound like something you'd be interested in? Solving the case of the Loch Thames Monster?" John chuckled to himself.

"Trivial," Sherlock snapped quickly.

The reporter from the telly kept talking.  _"There is Amateur footage of one of the boats going down, and please be warned: this footage may be graphic to some viewers."_

The screen switched from the woman on the scene to some phone footage from the night before. A man in the footage was leaning over the railing of the boat. The man taking the video laughed at his friend.  _"Hey, mate, what's that?"_ the man leaning over the railing questioned. The one filming stepped forward and peered over the edge. Under the water a large, vague shadow passed under the boat and the two men began freaking out. " _You see that?"_

_ "Holy –" _

_ "Did you see that?!" _

With a monstrous crash, the beast came out of the water, landing its forelimbs on the bow of the small boat. The broadcast censored most of what the two men on board were shouting in panic. The creature (the front half seemed to be based off of some deformed hippopotamus) roared and lunged at the one backing up against the railing, latching its jaws around him. The man filming screamed and the broadcast continued to censor most of what came out of his mouth.

The monster flung the body of the other man overboard and into the dark river. It growled as it slithered its way across the deck and back into the river, capsizing the boat along with it. The footage cut and the broadcast went back to the newscaster on site.  _"Although most are skeptical as to the authenticity of the footage and the general existence of some sort of monster, there are plenty who believe it's possible. If gods and aliens aren't simply fiction anymore, who's to say monsters like this are?"_

John's eyes were still glued to the screen when Sherlock stood and rushed to the door in a flurry of his coat. John shook his head and looked over at his friend by the door. "Where are you going?"

"Homeless network. Won't be long." And without any other word the detective shuffled quickly down the stairs and out the door.

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One week later Sherlock and John were walking along the Thames for what John suspected to be the "Monster of the Thames" case. Near the Millennium Bridge, Sherlock halted in front of an unkempt man sitting on a concrete ledge near the water. "What word have you got?" Sherlock asked. "It's been long enough for some rumours to circulate, so what can you tell me?"

The man looked up at the detective. "They're sayin' there's a monster in the river."

Sherlock did all he could to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "Well I was hoping that would be obvious. Is there anything specific that the network's picked up on?" he questioned.

The homeless man shrugged. "The creature's shown up here and there but no one else has been hurt."

"Yes," Sherlock insisted, "we all know this; what else is there?"

"One kid is startin' a monster tour group for some extra cash," the man explained. "Smoker, punk clothes, blue hair. Dunno why she's not a member of your network, she seems like the type to be…"

Sherlock reached into his coat pocket and took out his wallet, fishing a few notes from inside and handing them over to the man. "Thank you. Keep me updated." The man nodded thankfully and pocketed the cash.

With a swish of his coat, Sherlock abruptly turned around and began heading back the way he came. The sudden movement took John by surprise so he hurried to catch up. As soon as he stood next to the detective he noticed the grin on his face. "I should have this solved by tonight," he boasted confidently.

John raised an eyebrow in question. "Seriously? You've already figured it out?"

"I just need one more confirmation."

As life bustled on in the city as normal, the two walked along the bank of the river. There were quite a few more people gathered by the Thames to catch a glimpse of the monster, though. "So, what are we looking for, exactly?" John questioned.

Sherlock grinned when he saw what he needed. "Her," he answered, pointing towards a teen down by the riverbank. She was pulling out a cigarette as the two men approached. When she saw then walking over she shoved the cigarette back into her pocket with a roll of her eyes. "It's a dirty habit, smoking," Sherlock warned.

"Oh, are you're one to talk," the girl retorted, looking up at the detective. "Yes, I know who you are." She was a bit on the short side, just barely coming up to the same height as John. She pulled her blue dyed hair out of her face then folded her arms. "You need something?"

Sherlock placed his hands in his coat pockets and looked around casually. "What do you know about this alleged monster?" he interrogated, looking over his shoulder at the waters behind him.

The girl raised a questioning eyebrow. "Why're you askin' me?"

"Word on the street is you are going to start a tour group of sorts."

"Doesn't mean I know anything about this…monster. In fact, I think it's a load of bull – just like Loch Ness." She let her arms fall to her sides and stared up at Sherlock accusingly. "I thought you were a 'facts only' kinda guy."

"Oh, I am," he reassured, "and the fact is that there is a monster in the river," Sherlock paused for effect, "just not right now." He stared down the teen. "You climbed out of the river after the creature was spotted."

"I fell in," she defended a bit too quickly.

Sherlock smirked and shook his head. "No you didn't. Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, but you climbed out of the river after this monster was spotted all five times." He quirked an eyebrow. "Care to explain, Violet van Dalk?"

The girl froze. "You're nutters," she murmured. Her tone quickly escalated. "How do you know that name? You can't just go around accusin' people of bein' monsters!"

John stepped in to diffuse the situation. "No one's accusing anybody of anything," he insisted, holding out a hand. He shot Sherlock a look and turned to Violet. "We just want an honest answer. We won't think you're crazy and we won't tell anyone anything without your permission; who believe us anyway?" He tried to smile passed the situation. "Now…please? Can you tell us anything?"

The duo could tell Violet was bringing down her wall. She shifted from foot to foot and looked askance. "It just kinda… _happened_. There's been some weird stuff in the world as of late: aliens, super soldiers, psychotic AIs, the unnatural," she got very quiet, "monsters…" Sherlock and John stood quietly, waiting for Violet to continue. "The first time I really did just fall in the river; I _swear_ it was an accident. I was in a bit of trouble and the guy I pissed off tossed me over a bridge. I-I don't remember much, but I though' I was gonna drown – there are only fuzzy images. Next thing I know I'm near the riverbank. I crawled out and wasn't entirely sure what has happened – I was just glad I was alive." She took a moment to tuck some loose hair behind her ear. "Then I heard about the monster. I-I wasn't sure if…if I was involved, but what happened jus' didn't seem right. So, I went looking for answers." Violet glanced warily between Sherlock and John. "I'm getting better at controlling it – I actually got some stuff from the bottom of the river," she confessed. "I jus' sell it for quick cash."

"So you're the monster?" Sherlock concluded.

Violet glared and her hands balled into fists. "I ain't no  _monster_ ," she hissed.

"Of course not," reassured John, trying to prevent the teen from lashing out.

"Yes, of course," said Sherlock, "you just happen to turn into one."

For a few tense moments John thought Violet was going to punch Sherlock in the nose. However, she simply sighed and let her tense body sag. "You're right," she muttered. "I've killed three people. I'm learning to control it but…I don't want to put anyone else in danger."

Without anything more than a humph, Sherlock turned on his heel and began to walk away. Violet's anger quickly returned. "Is that it?" she shouted at the detective. "You interrogate answers out of me, call me a monster, and sulk off?" Sherlock halted and looked over his shoulders. "You at least gotta give me somethin' for my cooperation." The detective sighed and back tracked, handing some cash over to Violet. The teen eyed the money and raised an eyebrow. "This little for telling you my biggest secret?" Sherlock rolled his eyes and gave the girl another bill. Violet smirked and pocketed the cash. "You ain't tellin' anybody, right?"

"We have a friend whose profession is…" John chose his words carefully, "dealing…with people just like you. You remember the Battle of New York?"

"Twenty-twelve? Yeah."

"He helped put together the Avengers; he's with the good guys."

Violet scoffed. "Well he did a  _fantastic_  job," she drawled, "seeing they split up just over a guy." When she didn't get a response she said and caved. "Tell him you found me," she concluded, "but don't tell him who I am or how to find me." Sherlock nodded. "Let him know I'm not a danger to anyone…not anymore anyway…"

"We will," Sherlock assured. As he and John began walking away Violet stopped them.

"Wait!" She approached the two men. "That weirdo weather a few weeks back had something to do with inhumans – or mutants, or whatever we are – didn't it?"

Sherlock and John exchanged a quick glance. "It did," answered John.

"There's more of 'em out there every day. If you ever need someone on the inside, jus' ask."

After some silence, Sherlock cleared his throat. "…Thank you."

Violet grinned. "No problem." She winked and began to walk off. "Jus' keep in mind I charge for my services."

The detective and the blogger stood for a while and watched the teen wander off. "So…" said John. "She can…turn into a river monster?"

"Something of the sort."

John nodded then a thought dawned on him. "Hang on, how did you know she was spotted getting out of the river every time and how'd you know her name? She seemed surprised anyone would know it."

As John was speaking Sherlock was pulling out his phone. "CCTV footage courtesy of Agent Coulson," said Sherlock, showing his flatmate some screenshots of Violet climbing out of the Thames. "I put the evidence together and did some digging."

John sighed and put his hands in his coat pockets. "So I guess we have an ally on the inside of the mutant community now."

"Hm. You could call it that." Sherlock scrolled through his messages. "Lestrade's got a case. Up for some more?" With a grin, John followed Sherlock back up the road, preparing for some professional detective work.


	6. Possession

Sherlock and John were led into Scotland Yard by Lestrade. "It's the second robbery this week," the DI explained, "and the signature is exactly the same." He handed Sherlock a photograph of a symbol carved into a desk. "That was there at the first and second robbery but each bank was held up by different people."

"So an organisation," Sherlock drawled. "Really, Lestrade, you're getting dafter every case."

Lestrade chose to ignore the insult. "Here's the thing, though," he said. "Both men have no memory of the incident."

"What, of robbing the bank?" John questioned.

"They're lying," snapped Sherlock, "there's video evidence."

Lestrade sighed and opened the door to the interrogation area. "Sherlock, we hooked each one up to a polygraph." The detective stopped short. "That's why I brought you in."

Sherlock and John exchanged a glance. Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment. "You trust me to confirm the findings a piece of equipment?" he muttered.

"I trust you to get  _more out of him_  than a piece of equipment." Lestrade sighed. "Please. At this point, I'm bloody desperate."

Sherlock huffed. "Fine." Lestrade nodded a thank you and opened the door to interrogation room A, letting the detective and the blogger enter before following suit.

The man in question was sitting alone at the table in the center of the room. When the three men entered he looked up at Sherlock with a jump and fiddled with his fingers. The consulting detective looked the suspect up and down.

Sherlock walked up to the man and stood in front of him. "What's your name?"

The man looked a bit taken aback. "Er, Michael Thompson." The suspect swallowed nervously. "I don't know why I'm being kept here – they tested me on the lie detector."

Sherlock ignored his protest. "Did you rob Deybock Bank this morning?"

"No," the man said with full conviction.

Sherlock began pacing behind the suspect. "Do you have any memory of the incident?"

"I don't, please believe me." Sherlock looked over to Lestrade who stood across the room and nodded minutely.

Sherlock looked down at the back of the man's neck and saw a bit of a scar poking out from beneath his shirt's collar. "Mr. Thompson, do you have any significant scars?" the detective questioned.

"What? Er…no. I have a scar on my leg from an accident in my youth, but that's not significant, is it?" Thompson turned to look at Sherlock, causing his collar to move, revealing the scar fully. It was the symbol that had been etched into the desks.

"Then what is that on the back of your neck?" Before Thompson could respond, Sherlock headed towards the exit. "Lestrade, check to see if the other burglar had the same scar on his neck and text me whatever details you may find."

John hesitated before following his flatmate out of the room. Lestrade barely caught them. "Where are you going?" he called after the consultant.

"I need to make some phone calls."

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All was silent in 221B until Sherlock slammed a book shut in his hands, causing John to jump, shaking the teacup in his hand. "Persian!" the detective exclaimed.

John blinked. "…I'm sorry?" he called from the kitchen, setting the cup down and reaching for the tea.

"The robbery symbol comes from an ancient Persian myth," Sherlock clarified. "I believe we're dealing with a mutant – possibly a god – but I have to be certain." He stood and began pacing with a photograph of the symbol in hand.

It took the blogger a moment to register what the detective had said. Then it struck him. He turned back to the living room. "I-I'm sorry – did you say 'god?'"

"Not likely but worth looking into." Sherlock pulled out his phone. "Looks like I'll be giving Agent Coulson a call."

John walked over to the fridge and opened it, pleasantly surprised when there weren't any body parts to be found. However, his happiness was short-lived as John then realised there was no milk. He let out a long-suffering sigh. "Well, while you're out hunting Persian gods and mutants I'll be running to the store –" John grabbed his coat off the hook by the door, "– it looks like we're out of milk."

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "Yes, alright, fine." John didn't wait for anything else and took off down the stairs.

His run to Tesco's was quick, but coming back with groceries in your arms tends to take longer than getting there. The London streets were mildly crowded and with his arms laden with groceries John found himself bumping into others on too many occasions.

At one particularly rough area, John nearly dropped all his things after running almost head-on into another man. Unfortunately, the other guy wasn't so lucky – his papers went flying all over the pavement. John quickly got down to help him pick them up offering several apologies. When the other man had collected all of his things he gave John a thankful smile. "Don't worry about it," he assured. He gave John a friendly slap on the shoulder then as his pulled his hand away, ran it swiftly across the back of John's neck.

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Sherlock had slipped into his mind palace a while back and when he final came out he found the flat was still empty. He knew going on a grocery run shouldn't take John this long so, logically, John had returned then left again. When Sherlock checked the fridge the present milk confirmed that – but where had John gone? Sherlock was too deep in his mind palace and hadn't heard John say he was going anywhere.

That was when his phone buzzed. Sherlock pulled his mobile out from his pocket and answered. "Sherlock Holmes."

_ "Holmes, it's Coulson. I actually have someone on record who fits your description." _

Sherlock began to slowly pace the kitchen floor. "And who is he, exactly?"

Agent Coulson launched into his explanation. _"Robert Campbell, better known to his friends as Bobby. He was an archeologist before getting fired after destroying one of the artifacts they were excavating."_

"Let me guess," Sherlock sighed, "it somehow contained the ability to bestow some sort of power on him. Duplication but into different forms?" suggested Sherlock. "Mind control?"

_ "Possession. Every time he uses it he leaves the mark of the artifact on his victim. I guess now he's been leaving his mark at crime scenes." _

"How come you aren't monitoring him if he's on file?" Sherlock questioned.

_ "We did for a time,"  _ Coulson explained,  _"but he didn't seem like any kind of threat so we let up on our security – then one day he took off and we never found him again."_ Sherlock scoffed at the mistake and Coulson ignored it. _"I'll get the local agents on the case – we'll have him caught by the end of the day. You and Dr. Watson keep an eye out, will you?"_  The detective went to hang up but Coulson spoke up. _"And Holmes?"_ He pulled the phone back up to his ear.  _"Stay safe."_

The call ended and that was when Sherlock noticed the number of missed texts and calls he'd received, surprisingly, not mostly from John.

_ Need anything while I'm out? _

** 1 missed call from John Watson **

_ Sherlock, I've got the mark. I think I came in contact with the guy on my way back. Hurrying home. _

_ Other burglar also had the scar in the same place -L _

_ Please update me as soon as you find something -L _

** 2 missed calls from Mycroft **

_ John's out and he's acting a bit…odd. This isn't your doing, is it? _

Sherlock immediately shot his brother a text.

_ So you've resorted to spying on us again? Get me John's location right now. -SH _

Sherlock got to work on sending a text to Coulson.

_ John compromised by Campbell. Send least irritating agent to assist. Simply track my location on my mobile. -SH _

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Lucky for Sherlock, he clearly knew about London's layout than the man who had commandeered John. He spotted John up ahead and ran forward, pulling the man into the nearest alleyway. As soon as John was grabbed he fumbled for his gun but Sherlock slammed him up against the wall, sending the browning skidding across the asphalt. Sherlock held John up against the brick wall with plenty of conflicted feelings. Yes, it was John, but what was happening now was not of John's free will.

"Robert Campbell," Sherlock growled.

Robert raised an eyebrow. "So you've got my name then?" he said, accent slipping between John's British and his American.

Sherlock grit his teeth and tightened his grip, making Robert squirm. "How do you do it?" questioned Sherlock. "How does your…possession work."

Campbell grinned. "If I – actually me – touch a man I leave my mark. Once I leave my mark on someone I can choose to take control whenever I want." He quirked an eyebrow. "Pretty neat, don't 'ya think?"

"And why are you doing this?" Sherlock hissed, stepping closer menacingly.

"Convenience," Robert spluttered under the force of Sherlock's hold. "I get the rewards but my hands are clean if something goes wrong."

"I'd hardly say that – you leave your sign all over the place. A bit sloppy, don't you think?"

Robert rolled his eyes. "It's not like I want to. I can't take control unless I leave my mark."

"And the ones at the scenes?"

Campbell grinned. "Yeah, those were for fun."

Sherlock scoffed. "Low class criminals," he muttered. "You always try to create a game or leave a sign."

Campbell took advantage of Sherlock's momentary rant, slipping out of his grip and diving for the gun. Sherlock went after him immediately and tackled the figure of his best friend to the ground. They wrestled on the asphalt for a few tense moments, both trying to gain the upper hand and possession of the gun. Campbell swivelled around and aimed the gun at the detective. Due to his inexperience and Sherlock's quick reflexes the bullet did not hit anything important; however, it did graze his arm causing Sherlock to release his grip and clutched his arm instinctively. As Sherlock was comprehending what had happened and adjusting to his injury, Robert took the time to scramble to his feet and get a better grip on the gun.

Right on cue, Anderson came around the corner with a gun in his hands. Robert spun around just to be punched squarely in the face, knocking him out.

Sherlock scowled. " _You're_  his least irritating agent?" he questioned skeptically.

"I was the most  _convenient_  agent," Anderson sneered.

Sherlock gestured to John and began to walk over. "Did you really have to knock him out?"

Anderson sighed. "Cognitive recalibration works every time on mind control scenarios."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Ooh, using big words now, are you?" he taunted. "You don't want to hurt yourself."

Anderson rolled his eyes, doing his best to ignore the insults. "You got shot," he said, jerking his head towards Sherlock's arm and effectively changing the subject.

"Grazed," the detective corrected. "I'll have John take a look at it when we get home." Sherlock's phone buzzed, saving him from any more conversation. "Coulson, what did you find?"

"Robert Campbell has been apprehended," Coulson declared. Unknowingly, Sherlock let out a sigh of relief. "We're taking him into custody now."

"And what of John? Campbell said he can take possession whenever he pleases."

"We'll handle that," Coulson assured. "Trust me, we have felt with people like him before – I promise John will be safe. According to his file, Robert Campbell's mark fades after a while anyway, so give him a month then you'll know for certain."

Sherlock cleared his throat awkwardly. "Er…thank you."

"No problem – I'm just doing my job."

The call ended and Sherlock stared at his phone. Anderson spoke up. "I assume you will need a ride," he said, looking down at John's prone form.

Sherlock glared. "Yes," he forced out, "I suppose we will."

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Just under an hour later John came down his steps and into the living room, holding his head. Sherlock looked up from his book. "Oh, John. I see you are awake."

The blogger rubbed his head. "Uh, yeah…um, what happened?"

Sherlock snapped his book shut. "Yes, I suppose I should catch you up." He set the book aside and placed his hands under his chin. "You were compromised by the man committing the robberies and I had to stop you…er…him. You just got knocked out, nothing fatal."

John slowly nodded. "So you solved the case?"

"Yes, obviously. Coulson took the man into custody and SHIELD will be dealing with him properly." John rubbed the back of his neck and stopped short, having felt the newly formed, intricate scar. "Don't worry," Sherlock said with a dismissive wave of his hand, "it'll fade with time." He stood with a spring in his step. "Tea?"

John grinned. "Wouldn't mind if I do."


	7. Bomber Madman

All was fairly silent in 221B – Sherlock was working quietly on an experiment and John was reading the paper – when there was a loud rumble and the ground shook briefly. Both Sherlock and John shot up and looked around. John stood and headed towards the window, peaking through the curtains. People were running down the street and pulling out their phones either to call or video what was going on. John tried to get a better look around the corner from where he was and his eyes widened. "Oh, God, Sherlock…"

The detective stood and walked over to where his flatmate was, looking out the window as well. Smoke billowed around the corner. "The Baker Street Station was bombed," Sherlock stated.

John looked up at Sherlock in disbelief. "What, seriously?"

The consulting detective began walking to the door and John promptly followed. "Wait, Sherlock!" As Sherlock was slipping his coat on John stopped him. "You can't just run out there – people are injured, shocked, and in a panic right now, we don't need to add anything to it."

Sherlock seemed hesitant to listen to his friend's advice but conceded in the end. He simply took to watching the chaos from the window, trying to put together what exactly had happened.

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No doorbell ring, no knocking, but there were heavy footsteps to be heard on the staircase – conclusion: Lestrade. It had been a couple of days since the bombing but the after effects were hardly over. The station would be out of commission for the next week which was inconvenient for many commuters, and there was widespread paranoia throughout London. But with the city and it's people only beginning to cope, the case had just begun.

Lestrade entered the flat with a file in his hand and John entered from the kitchen to greet the officer. Sherlock sat up straight and snapped his book shut. "There's more to the bombing isn't there?" Lestrade nodded wordlessly. "It wasn't a terrorist attack or else someone would have taken credit by now and you wouldn't be coming to me. So someone's probably alive. Who?"

"The bomber," Lestrade answered. "There's some footage if you want to take a look." Lestrade offered Sherlock a memory stick and the consulting detective accepted it. He went over to his laptop, inserted the memory stick and opened the appropriate file.

The video flickered to life, showing security footage of Baker Street Station. The bomber in question stood on the platform, looked both ways, then a sick smile spread across his face. Without any button or form of a trigger, a millisecond of an explosion emanating from the man's body was visible before the footage cut out.

"That doesn't make any sense," John commented, leaning over the chair Sherlock sat in. "I mean, his clothes were too thin to contain any major explosive and he didn't seem to trigger the explosion at all." He shot his flatmate a look. "Could he have had accomplices?"

Sherlock remained silent, rewinding the video and playing it again. "No. No, the explosion came from him, not from anywhere else on the platform."

"But how?" Lestrade questioned. He stood up straight. "I'll be heading back to Scotland Yard – contact me if you find anything." Sherlock didn't respond and the DI left.

Sherlock got to work on putting together an email for Coulson. "You think he might be a mutant?" John questioned.

"Always a possibility," Sherlock answered, finishing up the message and sending it. "If he isn't the case will be much more interesting." He rewatched the video, slowing down frame-by-frame to trace the origin of the explosion.

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John was already asleep when his phone buzzed on the nightstand beside him. Jerking awake, the doctor reached for his mobile and read the message.

_ Euston Station. Bring your gun. - SH _

John shot up and quickly scrambled out from underneath his covers, hurrying to get changed. He took his gun from the bottom drawer of his dresser and tucked it safely into his jeans before heading down the stairs.

It didn't take John very long to get to Euston Station and spotting Sherlock was easy enough. "Something about our bomber, I assume," John said. His flatmate nodded.

"I've been keeping tabs on him and with the help of Agent Coulson I tracked him here." Sherlock began walking further into the station. "If I'm correct – and I usually am – he should be getting on the Central Line."

The detective and the blogger traveled down the escalators onto the platform. Sure enough, there stood the bomber who most surely should have been dead. Luckily, the rest of the platform was empty, sparing any civilians from what might happen. He heard the footsteps behind him and looked over his shoulder. In a flash he began running down the platform, Sherlock and John quickly chasing after him. With finding no other place to go, the pyromaniac jumped down off the platform. "Come on!" should Sherlock, noticing John's hesitation. "Just avoid the tracks, you'll be fine!" Without another thought, John jumped down from the platform.

The further from the station they got, the harder it became to see. Having not brought a torch, John fumbled for his phone while he ran, trying to provide some form of light. The bomber wasn't too far ahead, hesitating every time he came across a track. As much as he wanted to catch the bomber, John also didn't know when the next train was coming and how easily he and Sherlock could get out of the way.

For a moment they were both afraid of losing the bomber in the darkness of the underground. Then there was a  _'thwap!'_ sound that came from above and a shout before the detective and the blogger heard the bomber fall to the ground. John slowed and pointed his phone in the direction of the fallen man and saw that he had what appeared to be an arrow in his leg. The bomber tried to stand, huffed, then fell, not moving again.

While John was staring at the fallen pyromaniac, Sherlock was staring up towards the ceiling, looking for the source of the attack. "Thanks, guys," came an American voice from the darkness. There was a thud as feet hit the ground and a click as a light turned on. "I've been trackin' this dude for weeks. You're lucky he hasn't had enough time to recharge or else we'd all've been blown to pieces." The man extended a hand. "The name's Agent Clint Barton."

"You're Hawkeye," Sherlock said quickly, not a statement, but a question. He accepted the handshake. "I thought you and half of the Avengers were wanted criminals for violating the Sakovia Accords."

Clint shrugged. "Still am and still are, but SHIELD still appreciates me – no matter how broken it is at this point."

John stepped forward. "You're Hawkeye? As in, the Avenger Hawkeye?" Clint nodded with a grin as he shook John's hand. "Wow…uh, I…It's an honor to meet you!"

"You're Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, right? Pleasure's mine." He looked over at the unconscious bomber and down the tracks. "As much as I'd like to chat I'm afraid I've got a nitrokinetic to turn into SHIELD and a wanted man to be. Not to mention next train's coming in two minutes so we should clear out." He walked over to the bomber then quickly turned back to the others. "Oh, and I'd be happy to help wrangle mutants so if you ever need any assistance just let Phil know."

"Which one?"

"Coulson," said Clint, as if he were a bit offended. "God, I can't stand Anderson."

"See, John?" said Sherlock, gesturing to the archer. "I'm not the only one!"

"Yeah, I never said you were," mumbled John, grabbing his flatmate's arm and leading him back the way they came. "Thank you, Agent Barton!" he called out over his shoulder.

"No problem!" the agent shouted back.


	8. The Youth Broker (1)

Scams can be found everywhere. Every street corner, every page of every magazine, and every commercial. Depending on what you believe in you may see more scams than others. For example, if one believes in psychics one will not believe all of them to all be scams. However, even the most skeptical of the people may be convinced by these well thought-out ad campaigns.

Sherlock Holmes was not one of these people.

Granted, his recent encounters with the extraordinary had disproved some of what he believed to be facts, but everything still had a reasonable explanation in the end. He continued to trust in his skills of deduction to sort out the outright lies from the simply improbable.

After a particularly grueling few weeks of not getting to put those deductive powers to good use, Sherlock got a phone call from Phil Coulson.

Without hesitation, Sherlock snatched up his phone. "Sherlock Holmes."

_ "Holmes, it's Coulson. I've been getting some strange reports lately so I was hoping you could do some digging for me." _  There was the sound of shuffling papers on the other end of the line.  _"There's this woman on North Gower Street calling herself the 'Youth Broker.' It's not far from you and her shop's easy to find. I'm not entirely sure what she is or what she's connected to, but just check it out, could you?"_

"I'll be going over soon."

_ "Great. Let me know what you find. Oh,"  _ said Coulson, just before Sherlock hung up,  _"and just so you know I'll be over seeing a follow-up mission in Budapest, so I may not be available for a few days – stay out of trouble, alright?"_

Sherlock hung up and slipped his mobile into his pocket. "John!" he called up the stairs. "Agent Coulson's sending us on a case!" After a beat there were footsteps coming down the stairs and John stood in the living room.

"Dangerous?" he asked.

"Not likely. Extracting information as of right now, but things may change. This woman had either be a mutant or be involved in a murder or else this will have been a complete waste of time." He grabbed his coat on his way out, John following along in tow.

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A short cab ride to North Gower Street later, the detective and the blogger found themselves outside The Youth Broker. Sherlock headed straight inside while John took a moment to look at the sign over the door and symbols on the windows before entering.

The building smelled of burning incense and old books is what Sherlock first observed. The room was dimly lit and most of the light was coming in from the windows. Sherlock sneered. He did not enjoy scamming places such as this.

The bell on the door rung one last time as it closed behind John. The two men heard footsteps in the back and a young woman came in from behind a curtained doorway, taking her place in front of the reception desk. "Welcome," she said cheerfully, but also quite calm. "Are you here for an appointment?"

John looked towards Sherlock for a cover story. Sherlock's eyes flew over the desk and all over the woman in front of him as he made his deductions before he met her gaze once more. "I'm afraid I don't," he said, in the most sincerely sorry voice he could muster. "I-I wasn't aware I had to make an appointment, sorry. Should I do that now and come back later?"

The woman offered a kind smile. "Well you're in luck; I've been rather busy lately but I don't have another client for another half an hour. Would you like a session now?"

"Yes, please! I-I hope I'm not causing any trouble–"

"Not at all!" she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I took plenty of walk-ins when I first opened. I've just been so busy as of late I've begun scheduling appointments." She looked towards John then back at Sherlock in question. "Will you be going separately, or–"

Sherlock grinned at John. "He just wanted to observe." He looked over at the woman for approval. "Of course, if that's alright with you."

The young woman smiled. "Of course. Right this way." She stepped out from behind the desk and lead the two through another curtained doorway.

The room they now found themselves in was even darker than the first, with no windows to provide natural light. The minimal illumination there was was provided mostly by candles. Several cushions were lined along the floor as well as a small couch along the wall. There was a low coffee table in front of the couch and a cushioned stool on the other side. Large, silk tapestries hung from the ceiling, providing a homey atmosphere. The Youth Broker gestured to the couch along the wall. "Please, have a seat."

Sherlock promptly sat but John hesitated. "Um, are you doing it?" he asked her.

"Of course," the woman said with a smile.

John nodded. "Oh…" he said, taking a seat next to his flatmate. "It's just…Do you have any employees?"

The woman shook her head. "I'm afraid not; but with business booming I'm thinking of hiring a helping hand." She sat down on the stool across from the detective and the blogger. "So why are you here, Mr.…"

"Coulson," Sherlock said with a smile. "Clint Coulson."

"Mr. Coulson. The most common reason I get is injuries, but – of course – there are others, so do not be ashamed of your reason to be here."

"Just a messed up foot is all," Sherlock said with a convincing grin.

The Youth Broker smiled. "Alright then. When did you hurt your foot?"

"About a year ago. I was running and tripped. Tried everything but not a lot has worked for me."

The young woman nodded sympathetically and stood. "Alright, I know exactly what I need. Please excuse me for a moment." She smiled and Sherlock nodded as she left the room. As soon as she was out of sight Sherlock dropped his façade. He stood and began looking around for clues.

"Sherlock," began John, "what is this place? I mean seriously, what's going on?"

"From what I have gathered thus far this 'Youth Broker,'" Sherlock scoffed, "believes she can reverse injuries and scars – possibly other things but I need more data. Also, she owns a small black cat, loves coffee a little too much, and recently broke up with her abusive boyfriend." Sherlock continued to search around for anything that could indicate mutant activity.

"Okay, so she could have some form of regenerative abilities?" John suggested.

Sherlock paused. "Possibly." He quickly got to work on looking under cushions. "Since we don't have any employees to worry about I need you to look around for anything suspicious – anything that could connect her to mutants."

The detective shot up straight and went silent then went straight back to the couch just before the Youth Broker entered once more. She had a pack of what looked suspiciously like tarot cards, incense, and what seemed to be homemade herbal remedies. John had to hold back a snicker when he saw Sherlock's reaction to the supplies.

John cleared his throat. "'Scuse me, do you have a loo?"

The woman nodded. "Of course. If you go back the way we came it'll be the door at the other end of the room." John offered his thanks and shared one last look with Sherlock before exiting.

Once John was out of the stuffy room he took a look around and went behind the desk. There wasn't much behind there – some books with names of what seemed to be clients and their appointments. John closed the book and looked around cautiously before peeking behind the curtained door that lead to the back. With no one in sight, John entered.

It quickly became evident that the Youth Broker's flat was above her shop and she had several personal items thrown about. John looked under several papers and strange artifacts before he came across a business card. It was stark white save for the grey logo on the front: the icosahedron. John's heart lept into his throat and he snatched it up. He flipped the card over to see S.I.P. in the same colour as the symbol.

Looking around once more, John pocketed the card and headed back into the room where he found Sherlock sitting on floor in front of some tarot cards. It took all his will power not to laugh. "Um, sorry to interrupt," he said, walking over to the two, "but I got a text you need to see."

The Youth Broker halted as John knelt down to show Sherlock the business card which was directly in front of his phone, hidden from the woman's view. One look was all Sherlock needed to break character. "What's your name?" he asked sharply.

The young woman looked taken aback. "Alice Marks," she answered honestly. "W-Why?" She looked up at John. "I understand if something's come up, but I do prefer my sessions not be interrupted–"

"Have you ever heard of an icosahedron?" Sherlock questioned.

"What? No."

"Have you ever heard the names Juliet Michelson, Jacob Rytrot, Garret Vales, or Evan Warren?"

Alice began to look a little afraid. "No. No – I don't know. What's going on?"

Sherlock stood and looked down on Alice, taking the card out from behind John's phone. When Alice set eyes on it her face visibly paled. "Hm." Sherlock flipped the card over. "What is SIP?"

Alice stood defensively. "Where did you get that?" she hissed. She turned towards John. "You went through my stuff!" she accused.

Sherlock didn't step down. "At least five people have died and more will – what do you know about SIP?"

The young woman began backing up fearfully. "Nothing! I-I don't know! P-Please, I just–"

"It's acronym," Sherlock persisted. He stepped forward. "What for?"

Moving was the big mistake. Alice's eyes went wide with fright and she stuck out her hand. "Get away from me!"

Sensing impending danger, John stepped forward, ready to throw himself in front of his flatmate. There was a bright flash, then nothing.


	9. The Youth Broker (2)

"Sherlock!"

It was hard to come forth out of the darkness.

"Sherlock! Come on!"

But eventually, it had to be done.

Sherlock cracked his eyes open and groaned. There was a figure darting in and out of his vision, but it was all too blurry to tell what was going on.

"Sherlock? Oh, thank God. This is weird, even weird for us."

That voice sounded…wrong. It had a familiarity to it, but at the same time it seemed completely foreign. Sherlock blinked a few times in an attempt to clear his vision. As the person kneeling over him came into focus Sherlock became more and more confused.

In front of him was a boy who couldn't have been more than three. He looked at Sherlock with such desperation it lead the detective to believe that the boy knew him. He had dusty blond hair and dark blue eyes quite similar to–

And that's when it clicked. Sherlock sat straight up, regretting it a bit when spots danced in his vision. After he blinked away his light headedness, Sherlock stared at the boy in front of him. "John?" he squeaked out. The boy nodded. However, it was the fact that Sherlock no longer sounded the same that grabbed his attention. Sherlock scrambled to his feet simply to fall down on his face. He got to his hands and knees and trembled weekly for a bit. Eventually he choked out, "Me too?" John nodded.

Sherlock got to his feet once more, slower this time. John stood by him, ready to catch his flatmate should he fall again. The small detective leaned up against the coffee table. "How…how old are you?"

John looked down at himself before shaking his head. "Dunno. Five?"

Sherlock scoffed. "Five? You could hardly pass for four!"

John was quick to anger. "I've always been on the small side, okay!" He sighed, collecting himself. "You?"

Sherlock looked down at his thin, small (luckily clothed) frame. "Possibly seven – I'd need a mirror to be certain."

"Same here," said John with a nod. He looked around, unsure what to do next. "We should probably call Coulson, right?"

The detective shook his head. "He's out of contact for a few days. Not sure exactly how long."

John growled and began pacing. "Well, then what do we do, Sherlock, because I have no clue!" As entertaining as it was to watch the young doctor throw a tantrum, Sherlock did realise they were in a bit of a predicament. "Maybe we should call Mycroft," John suggested.

"No!" Sherlock shouted. "By no means are we telling my brother about this!"

John stopped pacing and began to calm down. "Okay–"

"Don't even say Anderson, that's a terrible idea." Now it was Sherlock's turn to pace.

John let out a sigh. "Well then, who?"

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"You've gotta be kidding me."

"No, Greg," said John, "I'm sorry, but we aren't."

Lestrade stood in the middle of the room at the Youth Broker's, staring down at the two kids. He shook his head in disbelief. "Look, kid, I don't know who put you two up to this–"

Sherlock groaned. "For God's sake – your wife is cheating on you again this time with an out of work actor, you had your second cup of coffee today before you came over, you had a late shift last night, and you were planning on going to the pub with John tonight," Sherlock finished, pointing to his friend next to him.

Lestrade was silent for a moment before rubbing his face. "Yeah, okay, but this whole mutant thing–"

"Is nothing new to the world," interrupted Sherlock. "Many people haven't encountered it themselves but mutants, aliens, gods, super soldiers, and monsters are definitely all real."

There was a long pause before the DI sighed. "Yeah, okay. So how did you two get involved?"

"The man who originally assembled the Avengers asked us to keep an eye out for mutant activity," John answered.

"Of course he did," muttered Lestrade in disbelief. "Alright, so what do we do?"

"Find Alice Marks," said Sherlock. "She's the one that did this to us, so let's hope she can undo it. Her flat is above the shop so she'll return eventually – likely not tonight, but within the week, definitely."

"Okay, I'll set up some patrol and we'll keep an eye on the place. What do we do in the meantime?"

Sherlock scowled. "Go back to Baker Street and wait it out."

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"John! Where's your gun!"

"I'm not letting you have my gun!"

"But I'm bored!"

Lestrade looked over his phone at the two. "Neither of you are going anywhere near a firearm, understand?"

Sherlock pouted up at the DI. "I'm not actually a child, you know that, right?"

Lestrade sighed and shook his head, looking back at his phone. "Some days I'm not so sure."

Snickering could be heard from across the room. "Oh, you're one to laugh, John."

John pulled a face. "What? What do you mean?"

"Five? I doubt it."

John scowled. "I told you, I've always been small!"

The fight most definitely would have gotten physical had Lestrade not stepped in. "Alright, that's enough." Both the detective and the blogger glared at each other from around the cop in front of them. "John, you go sit on the couch; Sherlock, you go sit in your chair."

The tiny detective almost looked offended. "What, are you putting us on timeout? Is that what this is? I'm not actually a child!"

"Well while you insist on acting like one I will treat you like one," Lestrade said firmly. "Chair. Now."

Sherlock glared up at the DI for a few moments, resisting the urge to stick out his tongue, before conceding and sulking over to his chair. When Lestrade turned around he saw John already sitting on the couch and looking quite guilty. Lestrade put his face in his hands for a moment before walking over to make a cup of tea – he hadn't had enough caffeine to deal with stuff like this yet.

After preparing himself a cuppa Lestrade sat himself down at the kitchen table and picked up the paper, giving it a look over. Absorbed in the article he was reading he didn't notice John sneak off the couch and into the kitchen. It wasn't until he felt tugging at his pant leg that he realised the small doctor had left his spot. "Uh, Greg, I can't reach the cupboard."

Lestrade looked down at John than up at the cabinets. "Oh. Okay, what do you need?" he asked, getting to his feet.

"Some kind of snack? There should be biscuits up there."

Sherlock's head popped up from behind the chair he sat in. "I want some too!" He saw John and glared. "Why doesn't he have to stay on the couch?" he questioned, sounding offended.

"Because he's quite sorry," Greg responded, pulling a tin of biscuits off the shelf.

"He didn't say sorry."

Greg handed John a biscuit. "Sorry," John said, then shoving the treat in his mouth.

Lestrade had to hold back a snicker. "See?"

Sherlock glared at the doctor and the DI. "Well I'm sorry too." He hopped of the chair and hustled into the kitchen. "Can I have a biscuit now?"

Lestrade pulled one out and handed it to the mini detective. The DI stared at the two kids in front of him in disbelief. "Are you two okay? I mean, you're acting really…" Lestrade paused to find the right word, "…childish…"

"Probably due to what ever Alice Marks did," Sherlock said, brushing his hands off on his trousers. "I don't like it either, but I can't seem to do anything about it."

"Me neither," chimed in John, "and usually I'm more mature than Sherlock."

"Hey!"

"Alright, alright, settle down boys." Lestrade didn't want an angry, eight year old Sherlock on his hands. "Look, it's getting late and I have the night shift again. Do you think you two will survive eight hours without me?" The flatmates were silent, staring at Lestrade and each other. The DI sighed. "Maybe if you both just went to bed the probability of something horrible happening would go down."

Sherlock glared. "Nuh-uh, I'm not tired."

Lestrade ran a hand over his face. "Are you sure?"

"Yup. I don't need any sleep – my body can run for days without sleep."

"Well, first of all, that's unhealthy; second of all, in this state you're going to need more sleep, I assure you." Lestrade tried to push Sherlock towards his bedroom but the mini detective put his foot down.

"I'm not tired!" he insisted.

"Humour me," Lestrade shot back. There was a moment of tense staring between the two before Sherlock turned around without a word and went into his room, slamming the door behind him.

Lestrade gave a long-suffering sigh and turned to face John. "I trust you," he said.

John nodded. "I'm just going to wash up first," he said, walking past the DI

Lestrade looked down at his watch. "Alright. Well, I'm going to head out. Call if anything happens or if Sherlock gets into trouble."

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He almost made it through the night, but at seven in the morning there was a knock on his door. He looked up to see Donovan. "There's some kids insisting to see you," she said. "I tried to talk them away, but they were persistent."

Lestrade stood up immediately. "Thank you Donovan, I'll go check it out." The DI left his office and walked towards the front of the building. There stood Sherlock and John, just as he expected, but there was also a teen girl standing behind them, arms crossed. "You almost made it eight hours," he muttered. "Alright, what's the issue."

"We tracked down Alice Marks," said Sherlock.

"And by 'we,'" said the girl, "he means me and his homeless network."

"Sorry, what's your name?" Lestrade asked.

"Vi," she said at the same time Sherlock said, "Violet van Dalk." Vi cringed at her full name. "Violet's a member of my homeless network as well as an insider of the mutant community," Sherlock explained.

Vi glared down at the detective. "I ain't a member of your bleedin' homeless network and don' call me a mutant!" she hissed, quiet enough to not be overheard, but just loud enough to be mildly threatening.

Lestrade's eyes flickered between the three kids in front of him. "Alright, but why are you here?"

"Saw two kids alone in London at night," Vi said smugly. "Couldn't let that happen; it can be dangerous."

Sherlock glowered at the teen. "Thank you for finding Alice Marks, your services are no longer needed."

Vi stuck out her hand expectantly. With an annoyed sigh and an eye roll, Sherlock fished out a few notes and handed them over. Vi gave a polite farewell and headed out of Scotland Yard. Lestrade looked towards Sherlock and John. "Alright, so where's Alice Marks?"

"Heading back to her flat. If we hurry we might be able to cut her off."

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Alice shoved clothes into her bag and jewellery into her pockets. She tossed in a few items of personal value before snapping her bag closed.

"Going somewhere?"

Alice gasped (nearly screamed) and whipped around. There stood Lestrade, Sherlock, and John. Once she saw the kids she let out a sigh. "Oh, it's you from earlier."

Sherlock stepped forward. "Yes, and I was sure hoping you wouldn't skip town without changing my friend and I back first."

Alice nodded. "O-Of course. Sorry, I-I just panicked."

"So I figured."

"But I can help you," Alice said, nodding her head. "Erm…Yeah, I can turn you and your friend back." She squinted. "I've never actually reversed someone this far before."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, and it's all very interesting but can we get a move on?"

Alice nodded. "Right. Er, you might be out for a while considering how far you have to go, but you can just stay here if you like – I'm still leaving."

"Why?" Lestrade asked. "You're in no danger, no one will be pressing charges, your identity and abilities are safe with us."

Alice shook her head, filling her purse. "I know I can trust Sherlock Holmes and any friends of his – yes, I figured out who you are, although a little too late – but it's not just you."

"SIP." Sherlock stepped forward. "What do you know?"

The young woman sat herself down on the edge of her bed. "Not much. A woman showed up at my door one day with the business card. She explained she would love to talk with me about my abilities." Alice lowers her gaze. "That's all I can really tell you, sorry."

"No, that's fine," said John, "thank you."

Alice nodded. "No problem. I'll still be leaving though, so SIP doesn't track me down – I barely had any interaction with the lady but I'm just…terrified. No one should know about my powers; I knew the Youth Broker was a bad idea." She shook her head. "Anyway, right, I'll get you back to normal." She raised her hands and grinned. "Who knows? Maybe I'll see you around?" There was a flash of light.

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Lestrade sat on the couch in 221B while Sherlock rushed about and John typed up their latest case – leaving out the seemingly impossible parts, of course. "So…" Lestrade begin, unsure exactly what to say. "You two were contacted by…"

"Phil Coulson," Sherlock filled in.

"Right. And he's the one who put together the Avengers, yeah?"

"That is correct."

"And he's hired you two," Lestrade pointed at the detective and doctor in question, "to keep an eye out for anything…"

"Out of the ordinary in a mutant, monster, superhuman sense, yes."

The DI put his head in his hands in disbelief. "It's always you two, isn't it? Why is it always you two?"

John cracked a smile and looked over his laptop. "It's not just us, though, you're involved too now."

Lestrade couldn't help but chuckle. "God save us."


	10. Chronokinetic

No matter how high and mighty he acted and how great his façade tended to be Sherlock could never cover up the fact that he was not a fan of overseas flights. He hadn't been across the pond in a long time, so when Phil Coulson showed up out of the blue and asked them to get on the next plane, both he and John were a bit taken off guard.

Nevertheless, the detective and the doctor complied and found themselves on the next flight to New York City. Coulson wouldn't tell them why they were going, just that they were headed to SHIELD.

When the three of them landed a vehicle was waiting for them. Inside the car was another agent. "Mr. Holmes. Doctor Watson." She stuck out her hand. "Agent Maria Hill." Both Londoners shook her hand in turn. "I'm glad you could make it."

Well we hardly had any choice in the matter," said Sherlock. "Agent Coulson has been keeping tabs on our schedules and movements – he knew the best time to bring us here."

Hill smiled a bit and shared a look with Coulson. "Well," Phil began, "I've been waiting on the reason for bringing you here for quite some time." Sherlock squinted suspiciously and the car pulled away from the airport. "You shouldn't be here more than a few days."

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The car pulled up to the curb outside an unsuspecting office building. Hill opened the door and Coulson was right behind. "If you could follow us, please." Sherlock and John got out of the car and the two SHIELD agents led them into the building.

As they entered, the detective and the blogger looked around at the enormous interior. "Welcome to SHIELD headquarters," Coulson introduced. John spun, taking in everything around them. Several agents were commuting in and out of the building as they walked by. "We haven't gotten back to helicarrier level yet because, technically, we don't exist; so we're sticking with office spaces on the ground."

"Hiding in plain sight," Sherlock mused.

The door opened again and two agents entered with a man cuffed between them. His restraints were larger and sturdier than normal handcuffs and had some form of switch on it out of reach. The man assessed the building and the people in it. This did not go unnoticed by the consulting detective.

Sherlock leaned closer to Hill and Coulson. "I'd keep an eye on him," he said, subtly gesturing to the man, "he's thinking of escaping."

Hill gave a brief chuckle. "I wouldn't worry about it."

The man jerked out of the grip of the agents and began beating them both back."

"Oh, I would," Sherlock shot back.

Hill burst into action, hand on her gun and sprinting over to the captive. Coulson soon followed. The man ran off from the two now-unconscious agents and, rather than making a break for the door, went to the nearest desk. An agent approached the man with a gun trained on him. The mutant rammed the cuffs into the corner of the desk, effectively disarming the restraints. He lifted his hand and with a flick of his wrist the agent disappeared in a whirlwind of light.

Hill dove behind another desk, trying to get a good shot from a safe distance. Sherlock looked around and assessed the situation, then realized there was no way out of said situation without direct confrontation – at least, the odds of that were extremely slim.

Sherlock ran off towards the mutant, leaving John standing in shock. "Sher-" Realizing there was no point in trying to stop the detective, the doctor hurried after his flatmate.

The man had his back turned and was taking out any agents in his way. Sherlock spotted the cuffs and went for them. The mutant whipped around just to be met with a war veteran's powerful punch. He went sprawling on the ground which bought Sherlock enough time to get the restraints and activate them. The man raised his hand, and in one last attempt of self-defense, sent the duo away in a portal of light.

The next thing the detective and the blogger knew, they were standing out on the streets. Before either of them could really gather themselves together, there was a large explosion too close for comfort.

The two of them were knocked down by the blast as dust and debris flew all around. Sherlock was the first one on his feet. "John, are you alright?"

"Yeah," John coughed, "yeah, I'm fine." He looked around in confusion. "What was that? Where are we?"

"Still in New York," Sherlock noted, looking at their surroundings, "but I think it's a matter of  _when_  are we."

John was about to question what he meant when there was a sound from overhead. Above them was an enormous portal leading into what just looked like an abyss. A machine zoomed by with a figure on top.

" _Look out!"_

Before either of the two Londoners could react, a figure came out from some of the debris and pulled them down. The three of them ducked and huddled. Blasts went off and guns were fired, but they went unharmed due to a shield over them.

Once the Chatauri flew on, their protector stood up, pulling away his shield. There stood Captain America in all his glory. "Are you alright?" he asked, hand outstretched as if to offer some form of comfort.

"Fine," Sherlock said quickly.

"T-Thank you," John stuttered, still in shock of seeing Captain freaking America right in front of him. "But…what's going on?"

"We're getting it under control but you need to get to safety," the Avenger ordered. "Follow me."

He led the others across the street, skillfully maneuvering the destroyed cars and Chatauri scouts. The three of them got to the other side where many civilians were huddled together. "You should be safe here," Captain America said. "Just don't leave until it's safe."

He turned to go back to his battle when John stopped him. "Wait!" The fellow soldier looked back over his shoulder. "Is it two thousand twelve?"

Steve gave a curt nod, not hiding the concern on his face very well. "Yes. Do you need medical attention?"

"No, it's alright, I'm a doctor. It's just-"

Sherlock jumped in. "It's fine." The Avenger nodded once again before taking off. Sherlock turned to his flatmate. "Obviously the power of the mutant that broke free was time travel."

John ran a hand over his face. "Well how do we get back?"

Sherlock stood silent for longer than John would have hoped. "Find the mutant."

"Who's to say he got sent back here too? You saw the way he got rid of those agents!"

It was evident that Sherlock was beginning to become frustrated. "I don't know!" Sherlock admitting he didn't know something? This was bad. "I don't…We will check the future SHIELD base." Sherlock began to calm down a bit as he formulated a plan. "If we can't find the mutant we will contact SHIELD."

"Sherlock, we've been thrown a good five years in the past. They won't know who we are!"

"Then I'll figure something out!"

The two of them noticed that some of the other civilians were staring so Sherlock lowered his voice to a hushed tone. "We don't have a lot to go on right now, so let's start with what we do have." John nodded. "The base shouldn't be more than a few blocks from here."

With a plan in mind, the two took off out of the building. A few people called after them saying it was too dangerous but they didn't heed their warnings. They weren't too far from the future SHIELD base but there were still Chatauri fighters to avoid. They ducked behind wrecked cars each time on passed, nearly getting hit far too many times.

After passing down the street tensely, the two reached the someday-to-be base. They ran inside to find it totally abandoned. John's heart dropped. Were they stuck? Could they actually be stuck in the past? Sure, things could have been a lot worse than just five years, but the best option was getting home.

"Ah," came a voice, "my associate said you would be joining me soon." The two Brits turned and spotted a man by the windows staring out across the landscape of destruction. He was not the mutant who had sent them back to the Battle of New York, but he was the only one in the building and he seemed all too nonchalant about the city collapsing around him.

Sherlock wasted no time. "Who are you?"

The man turned around to face the detective and grinned. "I told my man not to interfere with the timeline too much, but there are only so many significant time we could meet without being disturbed." He turned back to the window.

John shook his head. "So this was all because you wanted to talk?"

The man shrugged. "I suppose you could say that."

"You're from our time." Sherlock did not say this as a question.

"I am," said the man with a nod. He looked around the city. "I realize this may be slightly inconvenient for you, but I needed you to see what hatred for the unknown does to the human race." He turned around casually. "Had there been good communication between the gifted and the…normal people…maybe this could have been avoided."

"And you?" Sherlock questioned. "Are you…gifted?"

The man grinned. "That is to stay classified." There was a blast outside and terrified screams. The man didn't even flinch. "Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson, I ask you don't meddle in problems that aren't your own."

"And these mutants we've been helping are a problem you want to cover up?" John asked heatedly.

The man shook his head. "Not at all! The mutants are not the problem, Doctor Watson, the others are. Those who are unable to see the true gifts they hold are the problems – mainly their inability to see these gifted friends as something more than monsters."

"So why is it your problem?" Sherlock asked.

The man sighed and rolled up the sleeve to his suit. On his arm, just like the others, was a tattoo of the SIP symbol. "I am Director Williams. I am in charge of SIP, or Superhuman Integration Program."

"Let me guess," Sherlock drawled, "you intend to normalize mutants?"

The man nodded. "Well, yes, that just about sums it up."

"No," Sherlock muttered, shaking his head. "No, there's something else – something more."

The man looked at his watch. "Well, I'm afraid that's all the time I get with you." Beside the two Londoners a portal appeared. "Please do mind your own issues and not those of someone else."

Hesitantly, Sherlock turned away from the SIP director and stepped through.

When he and John came out on the other side they found themselves in the SHIELD base once again. The mutant who'd caused the whole fiasco was sat in a chair, held down by three large agents. Coulson and Hill stood by looking visibly relieved as the two men stepped through. As soon as Sherlock and John were clear of the portal Hill clasped the cuffs over the mutant's wrists and the portal disappeared.

Coulson looked the two up and down. "I assume I need to debrief you two."

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Coulson sat across from the blogger and detective. "The Battle of New York?"

"Yes," replied Sherlock with mild irritation.

"Why would he bring you there?"

"He said something about seeing what hatred for, er, the unknown did to the human race," John answered.

Coulson leaned back in his chair. "If anything this proves the point I've been trying to make to Director Fury for the last several months." He stood and, right on cue, the door opened and in walked Director Fury.

Fury looked over the three of them, having a particular stare down with Sherlock. "Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson," he said with a nod, "I'm Director Fury. Mr. Holmes, you've been on SHIELD's radar for years, which is why Agent Anderson has been stationed within Scotland Yard." Sherlock scoffed and Fury shot him a look before continuing. "However, I had Agent Coulson here keep tabs on you two ever since Holmes here began tearing down James Moriarty's web during his absence."

"You know he was alive too?" John asked, more out of frustration than anger at this point, he was so done with being the only one who didn't know.

"Not for certain. We only heard whispers, but we never really believed he was dead. Once he reappeared in London with Moriarty's network just about completely dismantled we knew we had to keep a closer eye on you and we knew that you would be a valuable asset to SHIELD." Fury reached into his coat pocket and took out two items. "We now see that you're of more importance to this organization than we originally thought." Fury slid the two objects over to Sherlock and John.

John slowly accepted the item and opened the flap. His eyes went wide. Sherlock casually flipped his open, having already deduced what was happening.

Coulson grinned. "Welcome to SHIELD, Agent Watson and Agent Homes."

John stared at the badge in his hands in disbelief. "This says level three."

Agent Coulson nodded. "It took some convincing," he glanced at Fury, "but we realized that you two have been helping out SHIELD much more than any level one agent." He shrugged. "I fought for level four, but the highest level Avenger is an eight if that helps with your perspective."

John sat in silence – he didn't even know where to start. "…Thank you."

"No," said Coulson, "thank you. Both of you."

Fury turned toward Coulson. "I assume you can take it from here?"

"Yessir," said Coulson. Fury gave a respectful nod to Sherlock and John before exiting.

"I'm not wearing the uniform," Sherlock said suddenly.

Couslon couldn't help but chuckle. "You don't have to…Yet. However, it is standard procedure that we give it to you. In fact, we should probably get started on that. Agent Holmes, Agent Watson, if you would follow me – there are a few things we need to brief you on. Don't worry, you should both be back at Baker Street by the end of the week."

Sherlock and John stood, following Coulson out of the room. John glanced over at the badge in Sherlock's hands. "I guess you won't need to be stealing Lestrade's IDs now. 'm pretty sure we now outrank him."

"I've always outranked him. And no, I will still be needing Scotland Yard IDs."

"I'm sure SHIELD could make you some of your own if you asked nicely."

Sherlock scoffed. "Please, that would be illegal." The two of them couldn't help but snicker.


	11. Heroes

It was a normal case-less day in 221B. Sherlock tinkered around with some experiments, checked and rechecked the website for any cases, and bugged Lestrade. Eventually Lestrade had had enough and the mopey detective turned towards pestering John at work. Needless to say, the doctor was less than pleased to have his day at work interrupted by the mere boredom of his friend. He even debated asking Coulson or any kind of mission to work on. Sherlock was so bored it hurt his head.

That was, until there was a knock at the door.

Sherlock shot right up and raced down the stairs. It was definitely a client. He ripped open the door to find Vi on the doorstep, two more teens behind her.

The two kids were fraternal twins, between seventeen and nineteen years of age. The sister played the piano, the brother played the cello, and they were both born and raised in an upper-middle-class family that had recently run into financial issues. The sister was a closeted lesbian (likely not out due to her parents' homophobia) but the brother knew. They'd both recently gotten into some trouble and were definitely both mutants.

Vi waited for Sherlock's brain to stop running. As his deductions finished she raised an eyebrow. "Ya done?" She gestured to the teens behind her. "My friends need your help."

Sherlock stepped aside. "Come in."

Vi led the way into the flat, her friends following behind cautiously. The four of them walked into the living room and Sherlock took a seat in his usual chair. He gestured silently to the couch. The twins sat down and Vi took a chair from the nearby desk, turning it around and straddling it. Sherlock glanced at Vi briefly but quickly turned back to the twins and jumped right back into his deductions. "You're both obviously mutants, but the powers are nothing new to you. I'd say you both got them at the same time a few years ago – whether it was caused by genetics or something manmade is left to be determined. However, something recently unnerved you, something personal – definitely something that has to do with your powers."

The brother spoke up. "Yes. Vi said you could help us."

Vi shrugged when Sherlock glanced at her again. There was the sound of the front door being opened and closed as John returned from work. He hurried up the stairs and halted when he saw the meeting going on. "Oh. You have clients." John then noticed that Vi was among them. He shared a look with his flatmate.

"Yes, it is a mutant related case." He gestured towards the twins. "These two are mutants."

" _Were_ ," the sister said. Everyone stared at her. "That's why we're here, Mr. Holmes – we  _were_  mutants."

Sherlock leaned closer. "You've lost your abilities," he murmured. "How did it happen?"

"We don't really know," the brother said, picking up the conversation. He rubbed his hands together nervously. "We got in a bit of trouble last night. At first we thought it was just some mugger – we figured if we let them have our money they'd leave us be. But…something weird happened." He shook his head, unsure how to describe what happened. "Another guy showed up, grabbed me, and I suddenly just felt so  _tired_. I actually collapsed." He looked at his sister, who was nodding along. "He did the same thing to Sandra. After he ran off we realized we didn't have our powers anymore."

The sister shook her head. "Sorry, we didn't properly introduce ourselves. I'm Sandra and this is my brother Owen."

Sherlock leaned back in his armchair. "I'm sure you know who I am."

Sandra nodded. "Of course – you and Doctor Watson both. Vi told us we could trust you."

"You can," John assured, jumping in. "We've worked on cases with people like you before. I f you want we have an organization you can contact with the situation–"

"No," Vi spat suddenly. "No, those crazy Americans can stay out of this."

Silence rang throughout the room as everyone went over what Vi had said. "Alright," said Sherlock, "then we won't involve SHIELD – I actually prefer solving these cases on my own." He leaned back in his chair again. "What were your abilities?"

"I had prophecy and Owen had telepathy."

"So you can help us?" asked Owen hopefully.

"We'll do what we can," John assured.

Sherlock stood and buttoned his coat. "Can you show us where you were attacked?"

The others stood as well. "Sure," said Owen. "Now?"

"Yes, now."

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Sherlock looked around the scene of the incident, checking for clues. John, Vi, and the twins stood by and watched the detective at work. Sherlock's train of thought was broken by the ringing of his phone. He took it out in irritation and answered. "What is it?" His face quickly softened and a grin appeared. "Where?" An address was given from the other side of the phone. "Give me fifteen minutes."

Sherlock ended the call and began walking out of the alley. "John, Lestrade has a murder."

John blinked. "Wait, what? You're taking another case on top of this?"

"Did you even get anything out of this trip?" Vi asked, annoyed.

Sherlock huffed and turned around. "The man you're looking for is not a man, but a kid. He's between five foot three and five foot six and has a size ten shoe. I'd say he's anywhere from twelve to fifteen." Sherlock scoffed. "I can handle two cases at once." With that he left the alley with a swish of his coat, John quick on his heels.

John quickly caught up to Sherlock. "Are you sure you should take this case? I mean, you haven't worked on a Scotland Yard case and a mutant case at the same time before."

Sherlock seemed affronted. "I've taken multiple cases at the same time before; I don't see how this should be any different."

Before they made it to a prime spot to hail a cab, a figure came out of nowhere and crashed right into John. The doctor stumbled but didn't fall. The kid who ran into him grabbed John's arm to help stabilize him. "Sorry, mate!" he apologized quickly.

John shook his head. "No, it's fine, you just startled me."

As the kid released his grip on John's arm, the doctor's eyes went wide. It was like someone had just hit him with one heck of a caffeine pill. This did not go unnoticed by the boy or Sherlock. The boy swallowed nervously and turned to run, but Sherlock caught his arm. "It's you, isn't it? What did you do?"

The kid used his free hand to get out of the grasp of the detective. "Let go of me!" Once his hand left Sherlock's wrist the detective felt the same burst of energy. Out of Sherlock's grasp, the kid scrambled away with wide, terrified eyes.

"Wait!" Sherlock tried to chase after the kid. Even though he was much faster, the kid's smaller height made it easier for him to slip through the crowd. It didn't take long for him to disappear. Sherlock let out a growl of frustration and looked around, searching for the kid.

John stepped over to his flatmate. "What was that? Sherlock, was that the kid we were looking for?"

"Yes," said Sherlock, pulling out his phone. "I'll get my homeless network to track him – he couldn't have gotten far." He shot off a few quick texts. "It would seem he attempted to use his abilities on us. It didn't work of course since we didn't have any abilities for him to negate."

"So that's his mutation? He can take other mutants' powers away?"

"That would be the logical conclusion here." Sherlock slid his mobile into his pocket once more. "He'll be back. He was heading towards the crime scene, so he was likely trying to make some form of amends." The detective turned to hail a cab.

John stood still. "Wait, you're letting him go?"

"No, I told you I have my homeless network tracking him." A cab pulled over and Sherlock climbed inside, John following after him. "He was obviously scared – he didn't mean to take away the abilities of the twins." Sherlock held his head up confidently. "He'll be back."

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The two of them arrived at the crime scene not much later. They were greeted by snide remarks from Anderson as usual. Sherlock debated pulling rank simply out of spite, but he would not stoop so low.

Lestrade met the detective and the blogger inside. "Well, your begging for a case seemed to have finally paid off." The three of them all looked down at the body in front of them and Sherlock quickly got to work.

"John, time of death?"

"I'd say between eight to nine hours ago."

"Identification?"

Lestrade picked up this one. "George Peterson, aged forty-eight. He has two kids, both moved out, and a wife who's out of town for work – they've all been informed of the situation."

Sherlock felt a mild headache coming on. He shook his head a bit, trying to expel the pain. "Occupation?"

"Civil servant – nothing too big, but people have been saying he was supposed to be promoted next week." Lestrade watched Sherlock in mild concern as the younger man clenched and unclenched his fists. "Murderer could've been someone who wanted to promotion for themselves.." Sherlock didn't reply. He put his head in his hands. Usually he was quick good at pain management but this was something that – for some reason – couldn't be ignored.

The DI looked towards John for help just to find that the doctor seemed to be in a similar state. "You two alright?"

"Fine," Sherlock spat. "We're fine." He grimaced as he got to his feet. "Call me if you learn anything else." Sherlock turned toward the door and saw his friend clutching his head. "John?"

"It's too loud in here," John choked out.

Sherlock walked over and took John's arm. "Then let's go," he said softly.

The two began to leave but Lestrade chased after them. "Wait, Sherlock! John, what's going on? Are you okay?" Lestrade managed to stop them just outside of the flat complex. "What's going on, seriously?"

Sherlock grimaced as another wave of pain hit him. "I said we're fine!" John visibly flinched at the sound of Sherlock's voice. Sherlock took a breath in an attempt to settle himself. "We should be fine."

"You're too loud," John muttered. Sherlock gave his friend a look. "You're still too loud. I can hear…I can hear you're…You need to stop."

"Stop what?" Sherlock didn't get a chance to hear what John had to say because the next wave of pain was too much. Sherlock doubled over and when he opened his eyes again he was no longer at the crime scene.

Before him stood a woman pacing frantically across her kitchen floor. She was on her phone and in a state of panic. "That's not a coincidence, Bill! What if I'm next?" Sherlock looked around the room as the woman listened to the response on the other end of the phone. "I know but…I'm still scared…"

Sherlock stepped forward. "Excuse me, but could you tell me who you are?"

The woman didn't even seem to hear him. "Alright," she said, still talking to the person on her phone. "Alright then. Thank you." She ended the call and set her phone down with a sigh. "Come on Meg," she murmured to herself, "don't be so paranoid." She took a deep breath and straightened up. As she turned around a bullet came flying through the window, piercing her skull.

Sherlock sat straight up with a gasp. "Whoa, you okay?" Sherlock took in his surrounding – he was back outside the crime scene. He was leaned up against the wall with Lestrade keeling next to him. "What was the last time you ate?"

Sherlock stood (albeit with a bit of help from Lestrade) and shook his head. "Just this morning. This was not caused by malnourishment, Inspector." He looked over and saw John leaning up against the building as well, his head in his hands. "John, I know what's happening."

John shook his head and clenched his hand into a fist. "Yeah, I have a pretty good idea too." He pulled in further on himself. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, but you're too loud."

Sherlock stepped back, staring at his friend. "I can see why."

Lestrade looked between the two. "Okay, what the hell is going on?"

Sherlock turned to the DI. "It's something to be discussed at the flat." He looked over his shoulder at his friend. "Would it be better if you didn't drive back with me?" All John could do was nod. Sherlock turned back to Lestrade. "You wouldn't mind giving John a ride back to our flat, would you?"

Lestrade was silent, trying to piece together exactly what was going on. "Yeah, alright, fine," he said, folding in. "Just give me a minute." His eyes flickered between Sherlock and John before heading back inside.

With nobody in earshot, Sherlock approached John. The doctor immediately stepped back. "How do you do it?" John asked. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "How do you even make heads or tails of your own thoughts? There's so many of them…"

"I've learned to live with them. I've had them my entire life and you've only heard them for a few minutes, you should get used to it."

Lestrade came back out of the building, car keys in hand. "Ready?" John nodded, slowly following after him. Sherlock stayed where he was and watched his friend get into the car. "Meet you at 221B," Lestrade said.

Sherlock stood for a moment, watching them drive off before heading to catch a cab.

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Sherlock trudged up the steps of 221B, making his presence clearly known. Once he came upon the landing he saw John sitting on the couch with a hand still clamped against his temple. Lestrade was sitting next to him and looked up when Sherlock entered. "Alright," said the DI, "I'm expecting and explanation. I assume this has to do with the whole mutant deal you two got yourselves wrapped up in."

Sherlock began to pace the room. "Yes."

John leaned into the couch. "Is there any way you could reign your thoughts in a little bit?"

Sherlock stopped in his tracks. "I've only found one thing that could do that."

Immediately John knew to what Sherlock was referring. John shook his head. "It's just…I can't hear  _myself_  think – you're too…overwhelming."

Lestrade looked between the two in question and turned to Sherlock for answers. Sherlock sighed. "How did the drive go?"

"It was pretty quiet. Quieter than being around you at least."

Sherlock huffed. "I would think so."

John rested his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands again. "Sherlock, I'm sorry, but it's just…it's too much." John got to his feet and went up the stairs to his room.

The two detectives watched him go. Once the door was closed, Lestrade turned to Sherlock again. "I'm sorry, what's happening?"

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, throwing himself down into his chair. "This morning I was contacted by two mutants who had both lost their powers. It became clear that what had negated their abilities was another mutant. John and I ran into him earlier and it would seem we have received the missing abilities."

Lestrade took a moment to process the information. "Wait, hold on. So...you and John both have the powers of the two mutants that contacted you this morning?"

"Yes."

"Which are?"

"Prophecy and telepathy."

A paused sat between them for several moments as Lestrade tried to even think of what to say. "I assume John got the telepathy."

"It would appear that way," Sherlock said with a nod. "It would also appear that it physically pains him to be around me – my thoughts are too loud."

Lestrade cracked a sad smile. "Yeah, that sounds about right." He leaned into the couch, taking in all the information. "So you have the gift of prophecy now?" Sherlock nodded. "Then what was that back at the crime scene?"

Sherlock stood up and took to pacing again, slower this time. "A premonition." He stopped at his violin and touched it gently. "The next victim."

Lestrade shot straight up. "The next victim? You mean there are going to be more?"

"Yes. It was short, I didn't get a lot. I know she lived in Central London, has a cat, has a fairly high position of power in the government, and her first name is Meg." Sherlock paused. "Likely Megan."

Standing, Lestrade took out his phone. "I'll work on finding her right away."

"The bullet will come through the highest east window of her kitchen."

Lestrade looked up from his phone for a moment, debating if he should comment. Eventually he decided against it and shook his head. "Alright." He pocketed his phone. "Keep me updated, will you? On both the case and you and John." Sherlock nodded noncommittally and Lestrade took his leave.

Sherlock stared at his violin for a few moments more before picking it up. He let himself melt into his instrument, his mind leaving its normal fast pace in exchange for music. He stopped several minutes later when it became apparent that he was not alone. Sherlock turned to find John standing on the foot of the stairs. "I suppose drugs aren't the only way to calm your mind down."

Sherlock looked down at the bow in his hand. "I suppose not…" The detective glanced up at his flatmate. "Better?"

John shrugged. "A bit. You're still loud but I think it was the initial shock that got to me; it's mostly becoming background noise now." He made his way to the kitchen. "Tea?"

"Wouldn't mind it." Sherlock gently placed his instrument back on the table.

"Has anyone contacted you about the mutant case?"

Sherlock walked over to the window, peering out through the curtains. "No, not yet."

"Do you think we should? Contact someone, I mean. Possibly SHIELD. We can handle a general mutant case, but his is…out of hand." Sherlock was vocally silent, but his mind was not. "Alright then, I'll call Agent Coulson.

As he waited for the water to boil, John began dialing Coulson. Sherlock couldn't help but smile. "Admit it; it's a bit fun being able to hear what I'm actually thinking."

John scoffed. "It's a bit annoying, that's what it is."

On the other end, Coulson picked up.  _"Agent Coulson."_

"Coulson, this is Doctor Watson."

" _Is it safe to assume you and Sherlock have run into trouble?"_

John chuckled a bit. "Yeah, you could say that. Have you ever run into anyone who could take away mutations and give them to others?"

Coulson was silent longer than John would have liked.  _"No, I can't say I have. I take it you two have encountered someone who can and you've gotten a little more involved than you would have liked."_

"Sounds about right."

" _What have you got?"_

"I have telepathy and Sherlock's got prophecy."

" _What's it even like to have telepathy around Sherlock Holmes?"_

"I think overwhelming is the word for it. Look, normally we could handle a case on our own but we're a little out of our element here."

" _I can't get too involved since I am not in London, but I'll do all I can to help you guys from here and I'll get over there next chance I have."_

John sighed in relief. "Thank you, we really appreciate it."

" _No problem. Keep me updated."_ The line went dead.

John let the phone dangle at his side for a moment as the kettle whistled. However, that wasn't the only thing getting louder. John took the water off the stove and screwed his eyes shut. "Sherlock, what do you mean you–"

John turned just in time to see Sherlock fall limply to the floor. John dropped his phone and rushed over to his friend's side. "Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear me?"

The detective didn't move, but his mind was racing. John grimaced. There wasn't anything he could even make sense of. There were too many thoughts to just pick one out. Everything was so loud. John stumbled and fell. He rubbed his temples in an attempt to alleviate the pain. He couldn't be around Sherlock, he just couldn't – yes he needed to help him but he was in no state to do so.

John got to his feet and stepped away from his flatmate. He braced himself against the wall to the kitchen. "Sherlock. Sherlock, are you okay?"

All of a sudden the detective shot back up in a panic. "John?"

John doubled over, clutching his head. Everything had become much too loud again. "Sherlock, please, I can't…I-I can't–"

Sherlock stumbled to his feet. "It's fine," he coughed. "I just need some air." The detective rushed out of the flat, finally leaving John with some quiet.

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That couldn't have been him, it didn't add up.

Sherlock sat outside Speedy's mulling over the last episode he just had. It couldn't have been him, the time just didn't seem right. He looked different but John didn't. I couldn't have been him.

The genius was brought out of his thoughts when an angry figure stomped up to him. "What was tha' earlier?" Vi spat. "You just decided that it wasn' worth your time or what?" She shook her head in disappointment. "I told Sandra and Owen that you could 'elp them – that they could trust you."

"Well that was hardly my doing, was it?" Sherlock looked up at the fuming teen. "I'm still on the case; I'm just waiting for contacts."

Vi pulled a face and sat across from the detective. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well you'd better get your contacts ta work faster 'cause my two best friends have no idea wha' to do. They are  _so_  lost." Vi stood abruptly. "You have to solve this case, Mr. Holmes." With that she turned and left.

A familiar figure passed her on the pavement. Sherlock perked right up. The boy wrung his hands nervously as he approached the detective. "M-Mr. Holmes?" Sherlock remained still. "I-I realize you and your friend have something that doesn't belong to you."

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Sherlock, John, Sandra, Owen, Vi, and the kid (turns out his name was Grant) occupied 221B. "I'm so,  _so_ sorry," said Grant, "truly. I'm getting better at controlling it, but it's hard to tell what belongs to who, you know?" He went bright red and subconsciously tried to hide his face. "It's all new to me."

Owen nodded. "Yeah, we understand." He glanced at the detective and the war vet. "We all do."

"So can you reverse it?" John asked quietly from his place near the kitchen.

"Of course," Grant said with a nod. He turned to the twins. "So…you had the telepathy," he said, pointing at Owen, "and you had the prophecy…" He then pointed at Sandra. The twins nodded.

"That's right," said Owen.

"Alright then." Grant walked over to John, albeit a little nervously. "You currently have telepathy, right?"

"I do."

"Okay then." Grant reached out and grabbed the doctor's arm. Immediately John felt as if all his energy was drained away. He stumbled a bit and leaned on the doorframe for support. Grant grimaced. "Sorry! Sorry, I should have warned you."

John waved his hand. "No, it's fine, really." He stood a straighter, blinking. It was a lot quieter. He couldn't help but grin. "Looks like it worked."

Grant smiled. "Good!" He turned and walked over to Owen. "You ready?"

"Yup."

Grant grabbed Owen and the teen's eyes went wide as the energy hit him. "Whoa…" He retracted his arm and turned to his sister. They stared at each other for a moment then Owen let out a laugh. "Well, I'd say that was a success!"

Owen nodded and quickly repeated the process with Sherlock and Sandra. Vi looked up at everyone room her seat on the couch. "Well?"

Sandra nodded. "It looks like everything's back to normal."

Grant lowered his head. "Again, I'm so,  _so_  sorry for what I did."

"Don't worry about it," John reassured with a bit of a grin. "I can say from experience that it takes a long time to adjust to new abilities."

"Hey," said Owen, looking towards the doctor, "what was it even like to have uncontrollable telepathy around Sherlock Holmes?"

John shook his head with a small smile. "Let's just say you should be grateful you can control your abilities."

Owen glanced at Sherlock and let out a yelp, stumbling backward into his sister who caught him gracelessly. Vi snickered at the two. Owen rubbed his head. "Geese…Yeah, I'm never tapping into that mind again."

Sherlock quickly changed the subject. "I'll walk you out." John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock's sudden generosity but didn't say anything. The kids all graciously accepted the offer.

Out of the flat and down the stairs, everyone made their way out the door. Sandra was the last one but Sherlock stopped her. "Sandra." The girl halted and turned to the detective. "May I have a word?"

Sandra looked back at her brother who had a concerned expression. "Don't worry, it'll only be a minute." She backtracked into the building to where Sherlock stood. "It's about a premonition, isn't it?"

Sherlock put his hands into his coat pockets. "Have you ever had a premonition that didn't come true? Or have you ever prevented it from happening?"

Sandra lowered her gaze and shook her head. "No. I'm not always present for the actual event, but it always happens. And I've never been able to prevent one either." She looked at Sherlock in worry. "Why, what did you see?"

Sherlock quickly shook his head. "Something I don't wish to discuss."

Sandra nodded minutely in understanding. "Well if you ever do or ever have questions you'll know who to come to." She walked back out the door. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes!" she called back over her shoulder.

Sherlock watched the group of kids disappear into the crowd of Londoners and tourists. His phone went off in his pocket and the detective pulled it out to check the message. It was from Lestrade.

_Megan Dawson didn't make it. We were just barely too late. But thanks to your bullet trajectory we managed to catch the killer. Some big government scandal apparently. No doubt I'll be dealing with Mycroft soon. Any update on you and John?_

Sherlock sent a quick reply and looked up from his phone, observing all those who passed by on the street, totally unaware of the superhuman world around them.

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Coulson closed the door behind him and walked to the other side of the table, across from where Sherlock sat. "So what exactly happened? Your text was vague and, since you didn't involve SHIELD, last week's mutant case wasn't an official mission that needs debriefing." He took a seat. "What's the issue?"

Sherlock took a moment to place his thoughts in order before speaking. "As you know, I had the gift of prophecy for a short time." Coulson nodded. "In that time I only had two premonitions, one of which has already come to pass. The other…is something I was hoping you could shed some light on."

The older agent leaned back and folded his arms. "Well, I'll do what I can."

"The chronokinetic. Is he locked away sufficiently?"

Coulson nodded. "Of course; there's no reason for him to be reeking time traveling havoc anytime soon." Sherlock was silent so Coulson probed further. "What was the premonition? I promise whatever is said in this room will not leave unless I find a piece of information vital to my superiors."

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment. "Both premonitions I had were as if I were standing in the room looking onto the situation. This particular one took place in the living room of 221B. I was lying on the ground bleeding heavily while John was trying to tend to my injuries. He was…panicked...The situation looked grim." Colson nodded. "But I don't think the man lying on the ground was actually me. At least, it didn't add up."

"You think it might have been you from even further in the future?"

"It's a possibility. John didn't look different and neither did the flat, so it couldn't have been more than a year from now. But I…It seemed as if I were several years older and with more injuries sustained over time as well – particularly the hands." Sherlock pulled up some more deductions from the premonition. "I was wearing something quite peculiar as well. The clothing seemed to be traditional – I could deduce it was produced in Katmandu."

"Katman–" Coulson stuttered. "Why would you have been…" He shook his head. "Nevermind. A lot can happen in a year."

"Or in seven to ten as it would seem to be in my case. In my timeline at least."

Coulson nodded and stood. "I'll get some agents to look into any strange activity in Katmandu as well as up extra security on the chronokinetic. Is that all?" Sherlock nodded. "Then you're dismissed, Agent Holmes."

Of course, Sherlock only gave Coulson the basics of what he saw. He didn't tell him how bad off future him seemed to be – if that even was him – or how terrified John seemed to be. Sherlock didn't tell him about all the deductions he made of the version of him that was bleeding out on 221B's carpet. How he had spent several months traveling the world, a couple years training in the martial arts, and had likely been looking into the medical field (Sherlock needed more facts to fully support that deduction). He also didn't mention how truly shaken and confused he was – and how much he hated it.


	12. Psychic Navigation

Sherlock was deep in his mind palace. As in  _deep_. He hadn't even acknowledged the outside world for a good three hours. He had no intention of coming out any time soon, but something seemed to pull him from it. He looked up and saw a man standing in the middle of the living room staring at him. The detective raised an eyebrow as his made his deductions.

The gown he wore would indicate the man had been kept in some sort of facility of sorts – and for a long time. However, he had very fresh bruises. He was about as tall as Sherlock, though much more built. A beard was forming, though not willingly – he just had not had access to a way to shave.

Slowly, he began to speak. "Sh-Sherlock Holmes?"

"That would be me."

The man let his tense body sag in relief. "Thank God. I've been trying to contact you, but– "

"You've been kept from doing so because you've been in a hospital of sorts." Sherlock finished. "I'd guess a mental facility."

The man blinked. "No, Mr. Holmes, I'm currently being kept by SIP."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he stood. "Currently?"

The man nodded eagerly. "Yes. There've been rumours going around that you're onto SIP." Sherlock nodded. "Well, I can be your inside man. I have the ability of…well, the SIP agents are calling it psychic navigation. I can communicate with people who are either unconscious or in a deep state of meditation."

"Where are you being kept?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't know exactly; I was knocked out when they brought me here. It's some kind of…of…experimental facility."

"What do you mean?"

The man looked over his shoulder suddenly as if he heard something behind him. He quickly turned back to Sherlock. "Look, I've gotta go. I'll contact you again as soon as I can." Then, as if an afterthought, "My name's David Parson by the way."

Then Sherlock blinked and saw John sitting on the couch reading the paper as if nothing had just happened. "John?"

The doctor looked up. "Oh, you're back." He got to his feet. "You've been out of it for quite a while, I didn't–"

"John, I've been contacted."

John paused. "What?"

Sherlock leapt to his feet. "A man being kept by SIP." He whipped out his phone. "He said his name is David Parson."

John set down the paper. "Wait, wait, what? What do you mean you were contacted? How? You were just in your mind palace, yeah?"

"Psychic navigation," Sherlock explained. "He was at a SIP facility physically but he managed to contact me while I was in my mind palace – likely because it would be considered deep meditation."

He hit one of the speed-dials on his phone and held it up to his ear. As soon as someone answered he got straight to the point. "Lestrade, I need you to look up a missing persons report: David Parson."

"Wait, hold on," said the DI, "give me a second, 'kay?" There was the sound of shuffling of papers and typing on a keyboard. "Why the hurry?"

"He's a mutant and could be involved in something quite dangerous."

Lestrade muttered some choice curse words to himself. "Okay, 'course. David Parson?"

"That is what I said, Lestrade," Sherlock drawled, getting impatient.

"Er, I've got a missing persons report for a David Parson. Age thirty-four, six foot, Caucasian, brown hair, brown eyes, went missing six weeks ago. That fit the description?"

"Send me the file." Sherlock hung up and tossed his phone on the coffee table and picked up his laptop, taking it over to his armchair and opening it up, logging on.

John stared at the detective from his spot on the couch. "Right…" he began. "So this man contacts you psychically and says he's being held by SIP?" Sherlock nodded. "Why?"

"That's what I aim to find out." He opened the email from Lestrade. "This is him." John made his way over to the screen. "Last seen leaving work at the Globe Theatre and apparently never made it home." Sherlock leaned back in his chair. "He said he could be our man on the inside." The detective perked up. "John, call Coulson and tell him what's happened."

When Sherlock didn't receive a response he looked over his shoulder to find John gone and David standing in his place. David shook his head. "Sorry for being so abrupt."

"You said you could only contact someone if they were unconscious or in a state of deep meditation," Sherlock said suspiciously.

"I know; you're unconscious."

"And you did it?"

David shrugged, somewhat guiltily. "I prefer to contact when someone's out on their own free will, but I don't have a lot of time." The mutant looked around him as if checking if he was really alone. "Every day agents come in and do…I don't know…tests on me. Measuring brain waves while I use my powers, various scans, blood tests. They aren't completely terrible unless they catch me contacting someone outside the facility."

"This is a great risk then."

David nodded hurriedly. "Yes, but this is important. There are more here. There are other mutants here. I don't know who and I don't know how many, but–"

Then Sherlock blinked and found himself on the floor of 221B with John kneeling over him in concern. "Sherlock, are you okay?" The detective sat up, staring at where David had just been. "I was in the middle of calling Coulson when you just fell out of your chair. Did you faint?"

"Parson contacted me again." Sherlock swayed as he got to his feet. "He's not the only one being held by SIP. They're performing experiments on mutants. He wasn't very specific, but I'd say measuring the extent of his powers."

John stared at his friend in concern. "Where?"

Sherlock shook his head. "He doesn't know. Definitely within the country, though."

There were footsteps in the stairwell and Lestrade appeared on the threshold. "Sherlock, what can you tell me?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "No need to come storming over, Lestrade, this is under SHIELD's jurisdiction now."

"Like hell it is. This is my missing persons case. You can aid me on this one but you don't have the power to take the case from me."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Don't I?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out his SHIELD badge. John sighed and hung his head. "This case is SHIELD's responsibility now, Lestrade."

Lestrade eyed the badge suspiciously before taking it from the detective. "So you stole an agent's ID – big surprise, you've done that before."

Sherlock rolled his eyes again. "Can you  _read_ , Inspector?"

Lestrade took a closer look at the badge and his eyes widened. He looked back up at the consulting detective. "So you've got yourself a fake…"

John shook his head. "I'm afraid it's not a fake, Greg." The doctor reached into his wallet and unfolded it, handing over the matching badge.

Lestrade looked between the two IDs, up at his friends, then back at the badges in disbelief. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Wasn't relevant," Sherlock said.

"It just never came up," John corrected, shooting his flatmate a look. He turned to his Sherlock in annoyance. "Look, we can either work with Lestrade or risk the possibility of dealing with Anderson." Sherlock glared at his friend.

Lestrade held up a hand. "Wait. Anderson? Does Anderson know about SHIELD? Sure, it was in the news a while back, but–" Lestrade stopped short and it hit him. "Bloody hell. He's an agent." Sherlock and John glanced at each other, sharing a knowing look. "He's an agent! How…How is he…? That doesn't make any sense; he's not the type to…" The detective inspector trailed off. "He was hired out of nowhere. I-I wasn't asked to do background checks. I figured there was a miscommunication, but…it's because he was planted there. Wasn't he? By SHIELD?" Lestrade gave the badges back. "One of my officers works for an undercover American agency…But why?"

"To keep an eye on me," Sherlock answered.

Lestrade shook his head in disbelief and sat down on the couch. "He was hired right after you started solving cases for NSY." He looked up at the two flatmates. "SHIELD saw this coming from a decade ago…" He ran a hand over his face. "Bloody hell," he muttered once again.

John couldn't help but crack a smile. "Just because we're officially working for SHIELD doesn't mean we'll be taking the case from you." John shot his flatmate a look and Sherlock pretended not to notice.

What Sherlock did notice, however, was that he was suddenly alone in the room with David once again. The detective turned to face him and saw the man was in terrible shape. He had new cuts and forming bruises and he was panting heavily as he leaned on the wall.

"They're on to me," he coughed. David wiped at his mouth. "They know I've been trying to contact someone. I don't know how long it will take before they figure out it's you."

"Then tell me all you can," said Sherlock.

David nodded. "I've been contacting some other mutants and I'd say there's about a dozen here – as well as two non-mutants. For sure there's a guy with super strength, a telekinetic, and someone who can control light, but I don't know the abilities of the rest or why there are non-mutants being held captive, nor do I know anyone's names. What I do know is that they're treating those who don't cooperate like rubbish – like real prisoners – but they don't talk like they think we're terrible." David paused and shook his head. "No, let me rephrase. They don't give a  _crap_  about us, but they treat our powers as if they were something sacred."

David swallowed, a wave of dizziness passing over him. "I know that there's more than one facility. Word is the telekinetic is being moved to another building – closer to London by the sound of it," David stopped for a moment. "I-I think that's it. At least, that's all I know."

Sherlock nodded. "Thank you. You've been very helpful."

David offered a weak grin. "You're welcome. And if any time you need to talk to me, just call out. I'll be able to reach you."

Sherlock blinked and found himself on the floor again, this time with both Lestrade and John staring over him. "What'd he say?" John asked.

Sherlock pushed himself to his feet and wobbled for a moment. "There are about a dozen mutant prisoners at his facility, as well as two non-mutants. But it's not the only one." He looked toward John. "There are other SIP facilities similar to this one. Apparently, there's one close to London."

Lestrade folded his arms. "Mind explaining what's going on?"

The detective and the doctor turned to their friend. "You've heard of SIP, haven't you?" John asked.

"Yeah," Lestrade said with a nod. "The business card back when you two were dealing with Alice Marks, right?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered. "We somewhat recently discovered what it stands for: Superhuman Integration Program."

"What, so they plan on making superhumans more commonplace? That sounds like a good motivation…but I sense they are anything but good."

"So it would seem." Sherlock made his way back over to his chair. "SIP has kidnapped mutants and non-mutants alike, one of whom is a psychic navigator named David Parson, a light manipulator, one with super strength, and a telekinetic. Experiments are being conducted on these mutants – it would seem they're measuring the extent of their powers. Apparently the telekinetic is being moved to a base close to London soon."

Sherlock turned to John. "I suggest we meet with Agent Coulson in person – there is quite a bit we need to discuss."


	13. Cure-All

It had been about a year since Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were first introduced to the world of SHIELD, superhumans, and secret organizations. John had to admit, life had definitely gotten a lot more interesting since then – and more complicated. Since Agent Phil Coulson showed up in 221B, John had talked down inhumans from blowing their powers out of proportion, become friends (Friends? Acquaintances? That was still up in the air) with a teen addict who could shapeshift into monsters, he'd time traveled, been a telepath for a day, and met two Avengers. And that was by no means all of it.

One thing that had not yet happened to Doctor Watson, however, was being asked to do something in the name of SHIELD. Did he expect to? One day, of course, he was an agent after all. The day just came up on him a little quicker than he would have guessed. He'd only been an official agent for three weeks when he got the call, and in the middle of work of all places.

John's phone had been on silent, but it was lucky it was in his line of sight when it went off. Although in hindsight it was probably not luck, but planned timing. At first he figured it was just Sherlock – after all, who else would be calling him in the middle of work – but when he saw the caller ID he answered it immediately. "Hello?"

" _Doctor Watson,"_  Coulson greeted.  _"Or should I say, Agent Watson. I've got something for you to look into."_

"Well you should talk to Sherlock, I'm at work right now and–"

" _I know, Agent, I've called_ you  _for a reason. This is for you to look into."_

John paused. "Okay. What do you need?"

" _There have been reports of a spike in patient recoveries at St. Mary's. It wouldn't be much of a concern except that it was very abrupt and concentrated only within the children's ward."_

"So you suspect some kind of mutant to have a hand in it," John finished.

" _It would seem that way. You'll be transferred there for the next few weeks while you gather intel."_

John shook his head. "Sorry, transferred?"

" _Yes, you should be getting the notice today. Don't worry; once the case is closed you'll get your old job back."_  Then Coulson hung up, leaving John standing in confused silence.

There was a knock at the door and the secretary stuck her head in. "Doctor Watson?" She stepped inside with a few papers in hand. "I've just got word you're transferring to St. Mary's. Is this permanent, or…?"

John shook his head, quickly recovering. "No, no. Not sure for how long, but I'll be back."

The secretary nodded."Well I hope everything goes well and I look forward to having you come back," she said with a kind grin. She handed over the papers and left, leaving John with his assignment.

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The whole transfer process was honestly no big deal. It was once John was at the hospital he was unsure of what to do. Look for a connection? He supposed that would be the most logical course of action. While on break on his third day at Bart's John looked into any patients that had suddenly recovered in the last few weeks. John found a staggering number of child patients who were cured of their illness out of the blue – many of whom had terminal illnesses. Perhaps they all had the same person visit them? He had no doubt he could get his hands on some visitor logs or security footage if he flouted his SHIELD badge enough. Though John hoped he wouldn't have to do that.

As he went through possible connections two others walked into the break room. One looked absolutely exhausted while the other, even though clearly tired, was by no means in a bad mood.

The exhausted woman let out a sigh. John smiled. "Long shift?"

She shook her head. "Like you wouldn't believe." She turned to her colleague. "And yet  _this guy_  is somehow not fazed by it."

The man shrugged. "Well, it's good work to be doing."

The woman rolled her eyes with a grin. "You've been insane the last couple of weeks, you know that?" That got John to perk up a bit.

The man's face went bright red. "I've come to realize what we do is important, okay?"

John stood. "I don't think we've met." He offered his hand. "Doctor John Watson."

The man accepted the handshake. "Christian Hawkins. I just started working as a nurse here in June."

John nodded. "Where were you working before that?"

Christian shook his head. "Oh, no, I was a student. This is my first time practicing medicine outside of school."

"Ah, I remember those days. Both exciting and terrifying."

Christian chuckled. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

John looked down at his watch. "Well, I've got to get back to work. It was nice to meet you."

"You too," Christian said softly. John offered a nod to the two and left, confident he'd found a new lead.

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After doing some digging, John was certain he'd found the connection: Nurse Hawkins. Several of the children had all been under his care. After about a dozen patients instantly got better, so did others not attended to by him – but the other nurses and doctors mentioned him wanting to get in more patients. They figured it was because he was so kind or just new, but John was beginning to think that wasn't the case.

John presented his case to Coulson, who looked into it. Just before the spike in patients being cured, Christian Hawkins had traveled to the countryside to visit some uni friends. There was no report of him being involved, but there was an incident regarding an explosion in the same town. No casualties had been reported and it was ruled a gas leak in the old, uninhabited building. But putting all the clues together created quite a case against the young nurse.

So John intended to confront him.

The doctor waited outside of St. Mary's just when Hawkins should have been getting off. Sure enough, he was right on cue. As soon as Christian walked out the doors John approached him. "Christian?"

The nurse looked startled but quickly pulled himself together. "Oh! Hi, Doctor Watson."

"Hey. I was wondering if I could speak with you."

Christian hesitated. "Erm, yeah. Sure. I should be getting home though…"

John shrugged. "I'll walk with you."

The nurse wrung his hands. "I actually have a car, living on the other side of London and all."

John paused. "I really need to talk to you about some of your patients. Nothing confidential."

At this point, John could tell Christian was suspicious. "…Okay. Drive with me then?"

John nodded. "I've got time."

"Then we should be heading out." Christian was obviously nervous, but he must have known where it was going. As the two headed to his car he began explaining himself. "Look, I've had a lot of people ask me about the patients who suddenly got better and I'm just going to start with: that's a weird coincidence, nothing more." Christian unlocked his car and the two got inside.

John nodded. "Of course, that's what most would believe, wouldn't it? There's no cure-all miracle drug."

Christian nodded along as he pulled onto the road. "Of course," he agreed.

"But there are a lot of stranger things in this world. Especially as of late." John noticed the nurse quickly glance at him. "I heard about that explosion a couple of weeks ago." Christian tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "Didn't you go to school out there?"

"Doesn't mean I know anything about the explosion. Accidents happen. Wasn't it a gas leak or something?"

John shrugged. "Well, that's what people are saying." He looked over at Christian. "But I'm sure you know better."

"I-I'm not sure what you mean."

"You were in the area when that happened, yes?"

"How'd you know that?" He was beginning to become a little defensive and a little afraid.

"Christian, if there's something going on – something you don't understand – I can help you. And I have friends who can help you." The nurse stayed silent, getting paler and eyes fixed on the road. So John continued. "There have been a lot of weird things going on in the last few years. Surely you've heard of some of them. These strange occurrences are becoming a lot more common. You remember the, uh, Monster of the Thames?"

Christian forced nervous laughter. "That hoax? Yeah…"

John shook his head. "It wasn't a hoax, Christian. And neither was that freak weather last year." The nurse continued to stare at the road, as if afraid of making eye contact with the doctor. "I have connections, there are people who can–"

John was immediately cut off by the roaring sound of screeching tires and crunching of metal. Everything happened so fast that it didn't even register to him what had happened until he felt a searing pain in his side. It was then he realized the car had been t-boned and he was pushed up against the edge of the car, metal folding in ways it originally wasn't. He instinctively coughed and instantly regretted it. Definitely a few broken ribs. Once he got the painful reminder the doctor began cataloging his injuries.

Broken ribs, whiplash, punctured lung, right broken ankle, fractured collarbone.

Overall, not good.

John didn't dare move much in the fear he would worsen the state of his collarbone. When Christian appeared in his line of sight John was surprised to find the younger man uninjured. He saw that Christian's lips were moving, but it took a moment for him to register what was being said. Christian reached over and placed his hand on the folded car and the metal went back into its original shape all on its own. Christian then grabbed John's arm and the doctor found himself panting – and he was doing so without struggle or the pain of ribs in places they shouldn't have been.

Save it be soreness, John felt perfectly fine.

He watched as Christian placed a hand on the heavily cracked windowsill and the cracks sealed themselves, leaving the window looking just as it had before – better, even. "Are you okay?" Christian asked, panicked. John nodded wordlessly. The nurse slumped back into the driver's seat. "I take it I have some explaining to do…"

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The two medical professionals stood on the steps outside Christian's flat complex. He wrung his hands as he began his tale. "I don't know how it happened. I was drunk, being stupid, and all alone. I found myself near the building that ended up exploding. Everyone's saying it was uninhabited, but it wasn't – there were people inside." He leaned up against a pillar, taking in a breath of the city air. "I didn't get a good look – I don't remember much. I trespassed on the property and they dragged me inside. It was like some kind of lab. Suddenly they've got me surrounded by doctors with equipment I didn't recognize. They started to work with me and the next thing I know there's fire and deafening screams…" He paused and gulped. "I thought I had died for sure, but I opened my eyes and saw I was still alive. I was the only one alive…"

Christian slid down the pillar and into a sitting position, staring blankly ahead. "I don't know who's covering it all up, but it was definitely not an abandoned building."

John nodded along to the man's story. "And your patients?"

The nurse cracked a distant smile. "That's when I realized I could heal more than just myself. Once I saw that seven-year-old girl walk out of the hospital cancer-free…" He trailed off, looking at his shaking hands. "I-I just couldn't stop. I couldn't let those people – those  _children_  – suffer." He stared up at John. "Please tell me I was doing the right thing."

With a sigh, John crouched down next to the younger man. "I can definitely tell you had the right intentions. You decided to study medicine for a reason – you wanted to become a nurse for a reason. Just because you have these powers doesn't mean you should be playing God like this. I understand your good intentions, but it could get you in a mess pretty quickly." John took a seat next to Christian. "As I was saying earlier, I have contacts who could help you. Do you want that?"

Christian was pondered the request for a long time. John wasn't even sure if he'd registered what was said. Eventually, the nurse spoke. "I just wanted to help. I see now that I was just going about it in the wrong way." He looked over at John. "I promise I'll stick to traditional methods of healing. I don't think I need help. But who were those people running that lab?"

John bit his lip. "I have the awful feeling I might know."


	14. Orion

Vi walked across the Millennium Bridge, surprised to find herself alone. Granted it was two in the morning, but there was usually  _someone_  out this early. She was enjoying the peace and quiet, but it was broken very quickly. Vi couldn't even see what went down, it happened so fast. All the teen registered was a flash of light and a very loud and impressively large splash.

Vi managed to pull herself out of bewilderment and ran to the edge of the bridge, staring down at the river below. Beneath the murky waters was a bright blue light illuminating the shape of someone.

Without hesitation Vi leapt into the water. Once she made contact with the river she willed herself to transform. She'd taken to exploring her different forms as well as naming them. This one in particular she referred to as the siren. Vi retained a basic human shape while she adjusted to surviving in the water. Looking down stream Vi spotted to drowning figure and swam with all her might. Her webbed fingers finding purchase on fabric, Vi pulled them both towards air.

Her head broke the surface of the water and she took a deep breath, transforming back. Vi pulled the person up beside her. To Vi everything was a blur and she suddenly found herself on the bank of the river beside the person she'd saved.

The girl lying motionless on the gravel looked to be about Vi's age, perhaps a year or two older. Her beautiful blue and gold dress was destroyed from her trip into the Thames. Vi stared at the elegant clothing, confused. How had this girl ended up in the Thames at two in the morning?

Vi's thoughts were interrupted by the girl coughing. She rolled over and spat up the river water in her lungs. Vi couldn't help but cringe – when properly using her abilities she could spend hours,  _days_ , in the river unharmed, but breathing in the river water couldn't have been healthy for this girl.

The young woman panted and slowly rolled onto her back again. Her eyes met Vi's and the mutant stumbled back. They seemed to be an impossible, shimmering gold. Vi stared at her as the girl blinked, her eyes becoming an average hazel. Vi approached the girl cautiously. "Um…are you okay?"

The girl sat up, leaning back on her hands and staring at Vi. "I-I think so." She seemed to have an accent that Vi couldn't quite place. The young woman took in her surroundings. "Where am I?"

"Near the Millennium Bridge; ya fell in." Vi cocked her head. "How didja fall in? There was just a lot o' light and…" She trailed off, not sure how to explain what she'd seen.

The girl sat all the way up with a wince, folding her arms around her to protect herself from the cold. It wasn't exactly comfortable to be soaking wet and sitting out in the night as fall was coming to an end. "I seem to have gotten separated from the search party." She looked at Vi in question. "What quadrant am I in?"

Vi blinked cluelessly at the girl. "Er, I don't think I know what ya mean…" The girl's eyes went wide in fear. "What's your name?"

"Taria. Princess of Orion."

Vi stared at Taria for a few moments, processing what she'd just said. "I'm sorry, wha'? You're a princess from where now? What?"

Taria stumbled to her feet. Vi quickly put out a hand to steady her. "I-I don't think I'm anywhere near home…What planet am I on?"

"Uh…Earth." Taria stared blankly at Vi. "Ya know? The big blue one? Where are you from?"

"I've already told you – Orion."

Vi shook her head. "Yeah, but that's not helpful. So you're…you're an alien? Wait, how do ya even know English?"

"I know all three million, four hundred and twenty-one thousand, three hundred and one languages. I understand and speak them all without effort."

The two girls stared at each other for a long while, unsure what to do. Eventually, Vi broke the silence. "Look. Taria. Aliens don' usually get the greatest hospitality 'ere on earth." She shrugged. "I mean, yeah, there's one in particular we humans have grown to like, but the rest of 'em have given aliens a bad rep. You really shouldn' be here."

Taria folded her arms. Whether it was to take a stand or protect herself from the cold, Vi wasn't sure. "I didn't exactly intend to be here – it was an accident. I told you, I was separated from the search party."

Vi ran a hand over her face. "Look, I'm sure you've got one hell'uv'a story to tell, but you should be tellin' it to the right people." She pulled out her phone (she was glad she had invested in a waterproof case) and watched Taria shiver violently. "Not to mention ya really need to get outta the cold."

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The girls traversed across London to their destination. Vi was glad to have only passed a few people, but they definitely got weird looks from those they came across. After all, it wasn't every day you saw a girl walking down the street dressed as Taria was and soaked to the bone. Taria was curious about mankind and Vi answered her questions as vaguely as possible – she didn't want even  _more_  people staring. Vi was relieved to find herself at Baker Street.

She knocked on the door and waited for the sound of footsteps. It didn't take long for the door to swing open and she saw Sherlock standing on the threshold. His eyes darted up and down Taria. "This is her?" Vi nodded. He stepped aside and Vi walked into the building, Taria following cautiously behind her.

The three made their way up the staircase and into the flat where John was waiting for them, tired but ready. "Yeah, real smart jumping into the Thames, you two." Vi huffed and sat herself on the couch. Taria remained standing, looking between the occupants of the living room. The doctor looked towards Taria. "I really hope you two knew what you were doing – pneumonia is a real threat when going on midnight swims."

"Haha," Vi said humourlessly. She pulled off her jacket and set on the armrest. "I saved a life, I'll have ya know."

Taria nodded. "And I thank you for that, truly." She looked around again. "But I'm not sure what's going on."

"We'll tell you our story," said John, "as long as you tell us yours."

Not much later the fireplace was lit and the girls were out of their wet clothes and in ill-fitting sweats and t-shirts. Taria was wrapped up in a blanket and the two were seated on the couch. Sherlock and John were in their respective armchairs as they waited for Taria to explain.

The girl pulled the blanket further around herself and rubbed her nose. "My name is Taria and I come from the planet Orion. I am the daughter of the king and queen, making me next in line for the throne." She paused, shivering a bit. "Orion is a large, mostly inhabitable planet – the only place suitable for our species, Orras, is the kingdom I come from. Of course there are rumours and legends of people surviving outside of the city, but that's not very likely."

Taria stared into the fire and folded her arms. "It's tradition for the next ruler in line to accompany the military on a mission and learn of their ways. My parents always say the best way to learn is by observing first hand."

"Wait," said John, "if there's only one city why is there need of a military?"

Sherlock answered before Taria could. "Invasions from other planets."

Taria nodded. "One of our sister planets isn't very friendly. We haven't gone to war with them since long,  _long_  before I was born, but we simply reached an armistice – the tension is still there." She shook her head and continued. "So when there was word that one of our scout ships had gone missing under mysterious circumstances on what should have been nothing more than a science expedition, I was asked to go with them." She stared down at her hands. "We were caught in a solar storm and an unidentifiable gravitational pull. It seemed to be defying the laws of the universe. The situation was dire and I was asked to take an escape pod. My steward and I made our way to the escape pod but he got caught in the chaos. I ended up leaving on my own." She looked back up at the others. "I saw…something. It was a portal similar to what I'd seen in my books at home, but I couldn't quite identify it. I got pulled in and the next thing I know I had been saved from drowning." She looked towards Vi. "And I have you to thank for that."

Vi wasn't very good at seeming casual. Her face went red even though she tried to hide it. "Yeah, well, no biggie. I was just using my powers is all…"

Taria perked up. "Do you have magic here on earth as well?"

Vi bit her lip. "Well…sort of. Not here on earth, but there have been people who have seen it." She looked up at Sherlock and John. "The Asgardians have magic and they've visited earth quite often."

"Asgard? I've heard of that."

Vi shrugged. "Well apparently they're a big deal." She gave Sherlock a look. "Perhaps Mr. Holmes here could get you in contact with them."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I could get you in contact with those who are better apt to deal with you and your situation."

Taria nodded. "I would like that very much, thank you."

John stood, looking out the window – it was still dark outside. "For now I just suggest you stay here. In all honesty this is the safest place to be."

"Of course. Thank you for your hospitality." She paused, glancing at Vi. "I've heard you humans aren't a fan of alien life."

"Well I wouldn't say that exactly," said John. "However, it is true that we – well, New York in particular has had issues with visitors from other planets before. But that doesn't mean that every alien is going to be turned away in fear." He looked up at the clock. "I suggest you get rest while you can. We'll get people over here tomorrow to help you."

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The first thing Taria noticed when she woke up was that the light streaming through the curtains had a golden tint to it, rather than the bluish light she was so used to on Orion. She sat up from her place on the couch and tossed her blanket aside. She heard someone in the kitchen, but she was alone in the living room. Just then Vi walked up the stairs with a bag in hand. She made eye contact with the princess and cleared her throat awkwardly. "Oh, you're awake." She set the bag down on the table and began fishing around. "I got some clothes for you. Ya know, so you can blend in. I figured I migh' as well show you around the city and introduce ya to human customs before SHIELD arrives."

Taria accepted the clothes handed to her. "SHIELD?"

"Yeah, the people who can help you find your planet." Taria nodded slowly. "You should get dressed quickly, princess, I don' know how much time we have."

"Don't be long," came Sherlock's voice from the kitchen.

Vi rolled her eyes. "'Course  _muuuum._ " She turned back to Taria. "I think it'd be a good idea to hit up some museums. How about you?"

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Vi had to admit, it was fun showing an alien princess the ways of human life. Granted, she couldn't teach her everything in only a few hours, but it had to be fun while it lasted. They'd visited the national gallery (Vi noticed that Taria had a thing for Monet and Vi was feeling generous so she bought her a cheap watch with the Water Lilies on the band) then decided to head over to the British Museum.

Taria admired the medieval weaponry for quite some time. However, she scoffed when she finished examining the swords. "These are in terrible condition!"

Vi raised an eyebrow. "Well…Yeah, they're hundreds o' years old."

Taria looked at Vi in question. "Do you not use them? Keep them in good shape?"

"Um…no…"

Taria laughed. "Well it would seem Earth is quite different from Orion." She held out her hand and a sword materialized in it right in front of them.

Vi jumped and stepped in front of it, trying to hide it from view. "Taria, put tha' away!" She hissed. Taria looked confused. "You can't have that out; we could get in a lot o' trouble!" The sword dissipated and Vi let out a sigh of relief. She then turned and stared at Taria in shock. "How did ya do that?"

"Basic magic. Is that not common knowledge here? I know you said humans can't perform magic, but you have  _seen_  it of course."

Taria ran a hand over her face. "Look, not everyone has, okay? Regardless of wha' kind o' magic it was, humans don't respond well to that kind of thing. I guess you could say we get intimidated by things we can't do or don' understand."

Taria slowly nodded. "Right. Of course. I'll be sure not to summon my sword in public."

Vi gave the alien a stressed smile. "Though I must admit, it was a really freakin' cool lookin' sword."

Taria couldn't help but grin.

Vi checked her phone. "Alright, it's been a while. We should head back to the flat, that agent guy should be stopping by soon." She motioned for Taria to follow her. "You ever had a churro?" Taria shook her head. "Well I'll find you one – my treat."

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When the two teens arrived once again at Baker Street they realized they had not beaten SHIELD. Agent Coulson and Agent Hill were waiting for them in the living room, chatting with Sherlock and John. The four adults looked over as Vi and Taria entered.

"Taria," Sherlock said, "this is Agent Phil Coulson and Assistant Director Maria Hill. If anyone is able to help you home it's their organization."

Phil extended his hand and Taria cautiously took it and shook. "Ms…I'm sorry, what's your last name?

Taria looked confused. "My name is Taria," she said.

Vi shook her head. "No, your last name." Taria continued to look confused. "You know. Do you not 'ave one?"

"I only have one name," Taria said in hesitation. "But I have noticed you humans have multiple."

Vi grinned. "Orion." Everyone looked at her in confusion. "Taria Orion, how does that sound?"

Taria grinned. "It seems fitting."

Coulson chuckled. "Well then, Ms. Orion, if you could come with us we'll do what we can to help you get home."

Taria nodded. "Of course." She looked at Sherlock and John. "Thank you for letting me stay here." She turned to Vi and smiled. "And thank you for saving me."

Vi's face went red. "Yeah, like I said, no biggie." Taria gave Vi a nod and followed the agents out the door.

Vi stared at the exit for a few moments before shaking her head. "Assistan' Director? Calling in the big guns, are we?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "As soon as I said alien…" he muttered.

Vi chuckled and walked over to the window, pulling aside the curtain and watching Taria leave. Her smile quickly turned into a frown when the car drove off. "Do you think we'll see her again?"

Sherlock shrugged. "That depends on many different and unquantifiable circumstances."

Vi cracked a smile. "Well I'll take that as a maybe."


	15. Kathmandu

A year ago there was an impossible heat wave, and now there were unprecedented lows. Freezing weather was to be expected at this time of year, but it was unlike anything anyone had predicted. The streets had frozen over on multiple occasions, causing several near-fatal accidents. Once the  _Thames_  began to freeze over, many people suspected something inhuman was going on. However, the residents of 221B had been suspicious of mutant activity for some time.

When Sherlock's phone range he knew immediately who it was and what it was about. "What do you have, Agent Coulson?"

" _We've located the epicentre,"_  he said,  _"I'll send you the address."_  Sherlock was going to hang up when Coulson kept speaking.  _"And I've had some agents look into unusual activity in Katmandu."_

Sherlock's interest piqued "And?"

" _There's definitely something going on. They've seen several people who looked, and I quote, 'out of place and suspicious.'"_

Sherlock scoffed. "Well, that doesn't tell us anything."

" _I'll be sure to send over those files as well so you can take a look at them yourself. Good luck, Agent Holmes."_  The line went dead.

With the address in hand, Sherlock and John headed to the Thames. It didn't take long for them to track the man down and he was beyond panicked. The whole experience was very similar to that of Ross and the heatwave. The man – whose name was Adam – wasn't sure how he was doing what he was doing. Once again John tried to talk him down, but Adam was a lot less cooperative than Ross was. Adam bolted, heading for the nearest warehouse.

The detective and the doctor shouted after him to no avail. As soon as he stepped inside, ice began crawling up the walls. Sherlock stopped short and his eyes shot over towards the end of the building. "John, get back!" John halted and Sherlock grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the building. The two began running in the opposite direction.

"What?" John looked over his shoulder at the warehouse. "What's going on?"

"You know what happens when a water heater's temperature goes unregulated? The building's going to blow."

"What?!" John stopped, turning back to look at the building. "No, it won't explode, it—"

"John, it's a  _gas_  wat—"

Then there was a blast. But there wasn't just one, there were several in a chain reaction. The first explosion was pretty small, but it quickly escalated from there. The two men ducked their heads as shrapnel flew their way. Several moments after the final explosion, John carefully looked up and over towards his flatmate. "You alright?"

"Fine." Sherlock continued to stare at the burning remnants of the building. He squinted suspiciously but didn't say any of the thoughts that came to mind. "I suppose we should inform Agent Coulson of this development."

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The case had been wrapped up pretty quickly. SHIELD took care of the destroyed warehouse and made a cover story for the civilians involved – a few people nearby were injured, but one was killed. The strange ice throughout London had melted within an hour of Adam's death and temperatures were returning to normal. The rest of the day had been spent in relative silence. Neither Sherlock nor John were very talkative seeing their client (or whatever he was to be considered) had been killed. John had turned in early and Sherlock was left alone. He wasn't alone for long though as footsteps were heard just outside.

Coulson entered and before he could even get a word out, Sherlock spoke. "It was the SIP facility, wasn't it?" Sherlock looked up at the agent from his place in his armchair. "The warehouse that exploded was the London SIP facility."

Coulson reached into his inner coat pocket. "It would seem so." He pulled out an evidence bag and inside was a plaque. He handed it off to Sherlock who took a closer look. Engraved into it was the icosahedron and the name  **DIRECTOR WILLIAMS**. "We're doing everything we can to retrieve the remnants, but there isn't a lot we can make out." Coulson held up a folder. "But I'm sure you can make something of  _this_." He traded it off for the nameplate, which he put back into his pocket. "The file on Katmandu – I figured you'd want to take a look for yourself."

Sherlock opened the file and was met with several pictures. All of them were of various people and each person had on clothing similar to that of what Sherlock had seen in his premonition. Sherlock flipped through the photos as Coulson spoke. "Whoever they are or whatever organization they're with, they've caught on to us and they know we're looking for them. They haven't made an offensive move but they've become increasingly difficult to find. I take it the clothes fit your description?"

"A similar style, yes." Sherlock began reading the reports the agents had written. "Golden sparks? Yet these agents didn't run into any mutants."

"No, and the…light so to speak…was very sporadic. None of the agents saw it in the same place twice and they rarely saw the same person at the scene. Didn't catch any pictures of it, nor did they see it in action, but we're working on that."

Sherlock gave the pictures another look over and flipped the folder shut, handing the file back to Coulson. "Thank you."

Coulson smiled. "I'll keep you updated. On both Katmandu and SIP." He offered a nod and exited the flat.

Sherlock sank deeper into his armchair, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his hands under his chin. If his deductions of the timeline of his premonition were correct, he had a few months at most before John found that doppelganger bleeding out on the carpet. But at this point, Sherlock wasn't sure of anything anymore.

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A young agent cautiously approached the desk ahead of him. He cleared his throat and the man at the desk looked up. "Director Williams? I'm sorry to report—"

"That the London facility has been destroyed, yes, I know." Williams swiveled around in his chair, looking out the window and across the London skyline.

The agent paused, unsure what to do now. "…Sir?"

Williams stood, walking slowly over to the glass the lined the entire south side of the room. "Don't worry agent, I'm fully aware of what has happened and it by no means has hindered our progress. It's moved our plans forward, in fact." He turned around and stared down the young man. "Inform the others that we should be expecting an influx of telekinetics soon."

The agent nodded. "Yes, sir."

By no means were SIP's plans halted. Everything was going as expected. Now if only he could get that pesky detective and his doctor friend out of the way…


	16. The Astral Plane

Doctor John Watson was having a bad day. No. Make that a  _really_  bad day. Patient upon patient without end and they all had the same problem – the flu. And yet no one seemed to realize it was nothing more than the flu, thus non-threatening. People are just so over-dramatic. Not only that, but he had a lot less cash than he had anticipated and only when it was too late did he realize that he wouldn't be able to afford a cab home. So that's how he ended up walking back to 221B in the freezing rain, the pavement still slick from the bit of snow leftover from the night before – not all of it had melted yet. Needless to say, he was in a bad mood.

As if the universe was out to get him, things only went downhill from there. John was pulled roughly from the street and into the closest alley. His army instincts kicked in and he immediately began fighting off the assailant. That's when he realized there were two of them. John managed to get one doubled over pretty bad with a knee to his gut, but the other man came up from behind and grabbed the veteran.

"Come on," the one holding him huffed, "we haven't got a lot of time!"

The other attacker groaned and stood part of the way up, his left arm still wrapped tenderly around his torso. There was definitely going to be an impressive bruise on his face as well. "Okay, okay. Give me a second." The man stretched up to his full height and John began fighting harder. "Don't worry, Doc, we aren't killing you today." He placed his hands on either side of the blogger's head and everything went dark.

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Sherlock wasn't worried, why would he be worried? On several occasions John had stopped by the pub after work, especially on hard days. Sherlock expected John to be back from the pub by eleven at the latest, but eleven had come and gone. Perhaps he'd stopped by Tesco's; they were running low on sugar after all. But Sherlock couldn't ignore the thought that something was wrong. Once two o'clock rolled around Sherlock decided to make a few phone calls. He contacted members of his homeless network and asked them to keep an eye out for John. After pacing around the flat endlessly, he dialed Inspector Lestrade.

Greg was groggy and displeased when he woke up.  _"Sherlock, you'd better have a bloody good excuse for waking me up in the middle of the night."_

"John's missing."

Lestrade instantly became more alert.  _"Missing? What, are you sure?"_

"His shift ended at eight, he should be home by now."

" _Sherlock, maybe he just decided to stop somewhere."_

"He wouldn't be gone this long, Lestrade."

Greg let out a long sigh.  _"Okay. I'll get some officers to look into it. It's probably nothing, he's spent the night elsewhere before."_

"He has no current girlfriend and he's never done so without telling me or making it  _glaringly_  obvious."

" _Alright. We'll keep an eye out for him, okay? We'll find him, Sherlock. G'night_." The call ended.

Sherlock stuffed his phone into his pocket and took to pacing the flat again, stopping by the window to look out the curtains several times. About a half hour later his phone rang – it was Coulson. Sherlock answered. "Yes?"

" _Sherlock, is everything alright? I just got notified that John's in the hospital. Are you two alright?"_

Sherlock was already putting on his coat. "Which hospital?"

" _St. Bart's. Did you not know he was in the hospital?"_

"He was supposed to be back six hours ago."

Coulson didn't bother censoring himself.  _"Update me when you learn what happened."_  Sherlock ended the phone call, tossed on his scarf, and sprinted down the stairs.

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Sherlock burst into St. Bart's, heading straight for the front desk. "I'm here to see John Watson, what room is he in?"

The lady at the front desk was quite taken aback and stared at the detective for several moments before looking to her computer. "Uh, John Watson?"

"That's what I said, was it not?" Sherlock spat.

The receptionist fumbled as she scrolled through her files. "Er, yes, a John Watson was brought in just fifteen minutes ago. Are you a relative?"

"Emergency contact. The room?"

"302…"

Sherlock walked past the front desk and took the stairs – the elevator would be too slow. Sherlock walked right into the hospital room and saw a doctor and a nurse standing around John's bed. Sherlock stepped forward and the two medical practitioners turned around. "What happened?"

The nurse and doctor exchanged a few words and the doctor pulled Sherlock aside. "We aren't sure. Someone found him and called 999. The cuts and bruises would suggest a fight, but those aren't severe. However he does have mild hypothermia and we suspect pneumonia. You can wait in the hall until the x-rays are done, alright?"

Sherlock despised waiting.

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Well this was…strange. That was the only way John could put it, really. He was done panicking and at this point was more confused than anything. No one could see him. He'd woken up in the hallway of a hospital a long time ago and no one would pay any attention. Eventually he tried to tap on the shoulder of the nearest doctor and his hand went right through her. Needless to say, John was pretty panicked.

He'd wondered around the hall, trying to find someone, anyone, who could see or hear him – but everyone was the same. Then he saw Sherlock. He called out, trying to get his flatmate's attention, but Sherlock ran right through him. John followed his friend into the nearest room and paled at what he saw. He was lying on the bed in the middle of the room.

So…he was having some sort of out of body experience? John stared in shock for a long time before realizing his body was being taken out of the room. He started to follow, but looked over at Sherlock who was huddled in the hospital chair along the wall of the corridor. So John decided to stay. He tried a few times to get his friend's attention, but it was to no avail.

"Doctor Watson?" John shot straight up and turned around. A man stood behind him, staring at him curiously. "This…This isn't right. Something's wrong."

"You can see me?"

"What? Of course I can…" The man stopped. "Oh…What happened? A-Are you alright?"

John shook his head. "I think so. Look, who are you and how can only you see me? Do you know what's going on?"

"My name's David Parson."

"David Parson? Wait, you're the…the—"

"Psychic navigator, and – before you ask – no, I didn't do this to you. I just wanted to introduce myself and let you and Mr. Holmes know that I've escaped SIP's facility." He glanced over at Sherlock. "But it looks like you've got a little more on your plate than I thought."

"Do you know what's going on?"

David paused for a moment, trying to think. "Well, my best guess is you've somehow been forced onto the astral plane. Don't ask me how it happened, I don't know. But my best guess would be  _someone_  forced you onto it."

John was silent for a moment as he thought. He then groaned. "I have a pretty good idea as to how this happened then."

"So you ran into someone who did this to you?" John nodded. David bit his lip. "SIP's moving forward faster than I thought. I'd heard you'd earned a place on their radar, but I didn't think it would catch up to you this fast. Something's happened. What?"

"Last week SIP's London facility exploded." David paled. "No one inside survived. That's where they moved the telekinetic to, yeah?"

"Yes." David began to pace nervously, wringing his hands. "This is  _not_  good."

John's heart began pounding. "What? What's going on?"

David stopped pacing and turned to John. "They're  _a lot_ further along than I thought." John waited for an explanation. "Were there people near the explosion?"

"Well, yes. There weren't a lot, but civilians were definitely nearby. Two or three were sent to the hospital and one bystander died."

"You have to find them as soon as possible. SIP was experimenting with replicating powers. I have a feeling whoever did this to you is a result of the tests they did on me."

"Wait, so he…he has your powers?" David nodded. "And those civilians caught in the explosion?"

"Telekinesis. That is, if everything went to SIP's plans."

"Not good, I take it."

David shook his head. "Yeah, not good. They'd recovered some of Hydra's notes on the Maximoff twins. Definitely not good." He looked over at Sherlock, who was still staring blankly ahead. "I'll relay this information to Mr. Holmes. I'm not sure how long it'll take me to get back to London seeing I'm trying to lie under the radar and I have no clue where I am. If I'm there in person I can pull you back, but who knows how long I'll be before I get there." David nodded. "See you." And he disappeared.

John looked over at his flatmate and saw his eyes drooping. John leaned up against the wall. Hopefully all of this would be figured out soon.

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It had been two days since John had been found unconscious in an alleyway and there was still no sign of waking. David Parson had explained everything to him and assured him that he was on his way back to London. However, an assurance wasn't enough. It shouldn't take two days to get to London – he was definitely somewhere in the UK.

Sherlock felt a bit stupid having one-sided conversations with his flatmate, but he knew John could hear him. It all seemed a bit surreal. Sherlock couldn't stand it anymore – he had to do something. He stood up from his seat next to John's bed. "Going out. I may have a way to bring you back." Sherlock could almost hear John questioning him, but Sherlock grabbed his coat from off the back of the chair and left the room.

It didn't take long to get the address he needed, but the seventeen minute cab ride was torture. If there was a possible solution Sherlock didn't want to waste any time.

When the cab pulled to a stop Sherlock tossed the cabbie several notes and leapt out of the car. He went straight to the door and rang the doorbell. It was agony listening to the footsteps on the inside.

The door was answered by a middle-aged woman who was still trying to wake up. Sherlock put on a false grin. "Hi! Is Grant home?"

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Uh, yeah. Hang on, who are you?"

"It's okay, Mum." The adults turned to see Grant approaching behind his mother, "he's a friend."

Grant's mother squinted suspiciously, but nodded nonetheless. "Alright then. Don't be long." She walked back inside the house.

Grant looked up at Sherlock in concern. "What is it?"

"Do you have any powers right now that involve the astral plane?"

Grant was taken aback. "What? Erm, no, I don't think so. Why?"

Sherlock huffed. "Well it doesn't matter if you can't help."

"Well maybe if I knew what was going on I could."

Sherlock paused for a moment. "John's been forced onto the astral plane by another mutant. We need a way to bring him back; he can't do it on his own."

Grant's face fell. "Oh. Sorry, I-I don't know—"

"I thought as much," Sherlock scoffed. He turned and began to walk away when his phone rang. Sherlock's heart leapt when he saw the caller ID and he answered quickly. "John?"

" _Yeah, it's me."_  Sherlock would never admit how glad he was to hear his flatmate's voice.

"Is David Parson there?"

" _No. No, David didn't help me. I-It was someone I've never seen before. She was dressed a bit strangely though."_

Sherlock stopped cold. "I'm on my way. Tell me everything when I get back to the hospital."

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John was sitting up in the hospital bed, still wrapped in several blankets and looking like crap, but very much awake and alive. "I have no idea who she was. Just walked right in here, sat down, and suddenly she was out of her body just like I was. I tried to ask her who she was but she just said she was grateful we'd saved her brother and she was repaying that debt. Then she forced me back into one piece and left before I could ask anything else." John let out a nasty cough.

"You may be in one piece but you still have pneumonia."

"Ugh, you don't need to remind me."

Sherlock cracked a smirk. "And her clothing? You said she was dressed strangely."

John hummed. "Yeah. It looked…I dunno, traditional? It wasn't like anything I'd seen before. Maybe in a movie once or something, but she wasn't exactly wearing something you'd see on the street."

Sherlock pulled out his phone and began scrolling through his photos. He pulled up one from the Katmandu file. "Did it look similar to this?"

John leaned in, getting a better look at the person in the photograph. "Yeah. Yeah, it was just like that. I mean, the style was." He stared at Sherlock for a moment. "What's going on? You know who she was?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. Just something Coulson's looking into."

"Sherlock, if it's connected to us in some way—" John cut himself off with a fit of coughing.

"You need to get some rest John," Sherlock said, getting to his feet, "don't worry about it." He made his way over to the door. "I'm getting take out. I figured it's better than what they're feeding you here. Chop Suey?"

Unable to respond through his incessant hacking, John simply gave his friend a thumbs up.


	17. Telekinesis

Sherlock and John had seen several different kinds of clients come into 221B over the years. Just over a year ago they'd started seeing an even bigger variety of people on their doorstep – inhumans. While they'd been working with SHIELD for some time now, it was still quite the adventure finding new superhumans throughout London. However, sometimes the superhumans found them.

Such was the case on this particular day. The doorbell rang and Mrs. Hudson answered, sending the young man up to 221B. Sherlock could tell straight away that he was a mutant. The inhuman took the seat John offered to him and swallowed nervously, looking between the doctor and the detective. "What's your name?" John asked.

"Princeton Jones."

"What are your powers, Mr. Jones?" Sherlock questioned.

Princeton flinched on the word 'powers' and the table scooted a few centimeters to the right. John and Sherlock shared a look. Princeton looked down at his hands, shaking his head. "Sorry, I…I'm just…" He blew out a nervous breath, closing his eyes for a moment. "I'm not supposed to have these. I-I don't know how to control them."

"When did you get your powers?" John asked softly.

"About a month ago. I almost didn't even notice at first." Princeton nearly cracked a smile. "But…they've been trying to get me like this for a long time."

"Who?" John asked.

"SIP," Sherlock answered.

Princeton looked over at the detective in fright and nodded his head. "I caught word you two knew about them. You're all the hot gossip among the guards." He let a brief laugh. "If SIP's scared of you I figured I could trust you."

"And you can," John assured.

"So you're one of the telekinetics then," Sherlock said. Princeton nodded, tugging on the fabric of his trousers in nervousness. "Can you tell us what happened?"

Princeton gulped and began to explain. "About three months ago I was kidnapped. They drugged me and when I woke up I was in a…room." He looked away, blinking hard. "There was someone else in there. She…God, she was just a kid!" The door slammed shut, causing everyone in the room to jump.

Princeton closed his eyes and took a breath. "I didn't know what was going on, I was panicked. Then these people came in and just…started poking and prodding. Both of us. I didn't know at the time, but I realized after a while that they were trying to duplicate her powers in me. It didn't take long for me to figure out she was a mutant, though. She fought back with her powers at one point, but—" Princeton cut himself off with an attempt to hold back a sob. "It sucked. Holy mother, it  _sucked_. Sometimes I didn't know if I would ever see the light of day again."

"Yet here you are," Sherlock mused. "How did you get out?"

"Last month I overheard the guards talking about transferring me to another facility to try another mutant. As one of them was taking me out of the building to a van I decided to make a break for it." He scoffed at himself and rolled his eyes. "'Cause I'm stupid like that. I didn't get far before the building went up." He shrugged, attempting nonchalance. "The guard was too close to the building, he didn't make it." Princeton hung his head. "I thought  _I_  wasn't going to make it. But I did. I managed to get away before any cops showed up; I was so scared I couldn't trust anyone. I've been crashing at a friend's place for the last month. He doesn't know about anything that happened, but he's looking for answers."

John leaned closer, resting his elbows on his knees. "We understand that you've been through some terrible things, Princeton. We also understand that you may not have the best hold on your abilities right now, them being so new to you." He shared a knowing look with his flatmate. "We know people who can help you. They've worked with people in situations similar to yours before and I know they can help you now."

Hesitantly, Princeton nodded. "Yeah. Yes, of course. I-I'd appreciate the help…"

John smiled. "Alright, we'll give them a call. You can stay here while they come; it's probably the safest place for you right now." Princeton simply nodded.

While Sherlock made the phone call, John talked with Princeton, trying to calm the young man down. "I understand if you don't want to talk about what happened, but any details you can provide us would be a tremendous help."

Princeton shook his head. "I don't know a lot. I know I wasn't the only one they were trying to duplicate the powers with and I think there were more mutants than just the girl." He clenched his fist. "Whenever they weren't experimenting they locked me up pretty good, so I can't tell you a lot."

John shook his head. "That's fine."

Sherlock walked back over to the two. "Coulson's sending two agents now." He looked towards Princeton. "It would seem you'll be spending some time in America."

Princeton nodded. "Good. Fine. As long as I can get away." He looked down at his lap. "Do you know what's going to happen?"

"That's quite the question, Mr. Jones. Care to be more specific?"

"To me? To the others in that…that  _lab_? I know I'm not the only one who was caught in that blast – I'm probably not the only one who's going through this right now."

John and Sherlock exchanged a look. "We're looking into it," John said. "We know people who are doing all they can to find SIP's labs and stop them. You've been very helpful, Princeton."

Princeton forced a sad smile and looked towards the window. "What is SIP aiming for? Why are they doing this?"

"That's what we hope to find out before they have the chance to go through with their plans – whatever they may be."


	18. Something Strange

It was nice to have the flat all to himself. Sherlock was out on a case and wouldn't be back until late, leaving John alone at 221B. He'd asked his friend if he should meet him at the crime scene after work but Sherlock declined. John didn't feel too bad being left out – it was nice to get a break.

However, his break didn't last very long. Upon hearing an unusual noise in the sitting room John turned around and found something…strange. A swirling circle of golden light was forming right next to the fireplace. Out from it tumbled a figure that looked all too familiar. John quickly got to his feet and the portal vanished, leaving the man on the floor and barely moving. John kneeled down next to the body and grabbed his shoulder, giving a slight gasp when he saw his face. "Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear me?"

But something wasn't right. This person didn't look  _quite_  like Sherlock – a little older, perhaps, as well as some facial hair. John glanced back at where the portal had been. Another time travel incident? And the clothing…It looked just like the style that woman wore when John was stuck in the hospital on the astral plane. It was just like the clothing in the pictures Sherlock had on his phone. John shook his flatmate's shoulder lightly. "Sherlock?" The man let out a whimper, pulling in closer on himself. John tried to get his friend to uncurl himself. "Sherlock, what happened? I need to look at what happened."

The Sherlock look-alike's eyes fluttered open, unfocussed and watery. He looked over at John, blinking hard. "Wha'? Wha's goin' on?"

He tried to sit up and John gently pushed him back on the ground. "I need you to lie flat for me, okay?" John began to get to his feet. "I'm going to grab the med-kit, alright? Don't move."

The man whimpered and John felt extremely guilty leaving him like this. John hurried to the bathroom and threw open the cupboard door under the sink. He reached in and pulled out the impressive medical kit (courtesy of Mycroft). Everyone knew having such an intense kit would come in handy, given Sherlock's aversion to hospitals. John rushed back into the living room, unsure how to feel when he realized his friend hadn't moved. Was he actually listening to John for once or was he simply too hurt to disobey?

John knelt beside him and set the med-kit down. "Sherlock?" John lightly tapped the man's face and his eyes fluttered. He tried to wave off John's hand. His speech was slurred and John couldn't quite make out what he was saying, but the doctor was simply grateful his friend was still conscious. "I need to look at your injuries, Sherlock, alright? Can you tell me what happened?"

"Wasn't s'pose to…" He grimaced. "…s'posed to…"

"Alright," John assured, "alright. Just stay still, okay?"

John looked down to his flatmate's abdomen and quickly found the problem. There was a large laceration on his far left side. Bit not good. John pulled up his friend's shirt (tunic?) and began to examine the wound more closely. John bit his lip. "Sherlock, you should go to the hospital."

"Who? Wha'? No! No…hosp'als…Not withou'…Chris'ine…doin' it."

John wasn't sure who 'Chris' was, but now was not the time to ask. "Well I'm going to have to suture this up here then." John opened the med-kit and began pulling out supplies.

"Huh? You can't…Can you do tha'?"

John's brow furrowed in concern at his friend's question, but he let out a chuckle anyway. "Yeah, I'd say as an army doctor I'm pretty well suited for the job of stitching someone back together." John slipped on a pair of gloves.

Sherlock made a face. "Oh."

John got to work on cutting off Sherlock's shirt. The thick material was hard to cut through, but once he got it off and unhooked that ridiculous cape from around his flatmate's neck John pulled out a bottle from the kit. "This'll sting." John gave little warning though as he immediately began treating the wound. His friend let out a hiss. "Sorry." Once John was satisfied with his work he pulled out a needle and began to numb the area around the wound.

His flatmate hummed. "Did you just numb me?" So he was becoming more lucid. Good.

"Yes."

"How?" John raised an eyebrow. "Why do you…have that stuff?"

"For times like this, you moron." Sherlock didn't respond and John continued to work in silence. He was so surprised by his friend's silence he felt the need to check to see his flatmate was still conscious, which he was. John was satisfied with the work he'd done, but knew the wound needed sutures. "Alright, I'm going to start stitching up. Okay?" Sherlock nodded and John got to work.

Most of the time was spent in relative silence, but near the end Sherlock's doppelganger spoke up. "Where am I?"

The question took John by surprise. "221B."

Sherlock made a face. "Tha's not very sp'cific."

"Sherlock, what do you mean?"

"That's not my—" The man was cut off by an overwhelming wave of nausea. He screwed his eyes shut and swallowed.

John noticed the movement. "Almost done, alright?" He finished off the last sutures and cut the string. "There. Done." Sherlock immediately tried to get to his feet. John reached out. "Whoa, whoa, stop! You are not going anywhere that easily. Let me wrap it up first, at least." John hurried to cover his friend's wound. He pinned it together and sat back. "Alright, that should do it." He put his arm around his friend and slowly helped him to his feet. He then began leading him over to the couch. Sherlock grimaced as he was lowered onto the sofa. "Easy." John straightened back up as Sherlock laid down on the couch. "I'll get you some water, alright?" He pointed a finger at his friend. "And I expect a full explanation, I hope you realize that."

John walked into the kitchen and got a glass of water. When he stepped back into the sitting room he found Sherlock had fallen asleep. Or unconscious. John sighed and set the water down on the coffee table and walked back into the kitchen. John's phone began buzzing and the ID  **SHERLOCK HOLMES**  glared on the screen. John reached for his mobile and answered. "Sherlock?"

" _John, this case was hardly worth my time—"_

"Sherlock, something weird's going on." He looked over his shoulder at his friend's doppelganger.

" _John, what's happened?"_

"Unless you've got a twin you never told me about, we've got some SHIELD level issues on our hands."

" _I'll be there in two minutes."_  Sherlock hung up.

Sherlock was true to his word and was at the flat not much later. Once he crossed the threshold and spotted the man unconscious on the couch he stopped short. John walked in from the kitchen. "Sherlock?" Sherlock's eyes darted up and down the figure on the couch.

"He's not me."

John was confused. "What?"

Sherlock walked past his flatmate into the sitting room, careful to avoid the blood and discarded clothing on the carpet. "I thought he would be future me, but he's not."

"Wait, you mean you knew about this?"

Sherlock sat in his armchair, staring curiously at his look-alike on the sofa. "I'm not sure what you would consider  _knowing_  about this—"

"What do you know, Sherlock?" John demanded, folding his arms.

Sherlock sighed. "I knew this would happen, I just didn't know when."

"And how, exactly, did you know this was going to happen?"

Sherlock hesitated. "The Cannon twins."

"Owen and Sandra?" Then it clicked. "You saw this coming, didn't you? You had a-a premonition."

"Yes," Sherlock answered quietly.

John couldn't help but be angry. "And you didn't bother to tell me? You knew I'd be stuck here treating your…your  _doppelganger_ , but didn't bother to warn me?" He stepped closer. "You've known for  _months_  and you never said a word. That's why you had those photos, huh?" He gestured to their unexpected guest on the sofa. "Because your…his.. _whatever's_  clothing looked the same."

"I didn't know when it was going to happen, I didn't know how, and I didn't know who it was going to be." Sherlock stood, meeting John's eyes. "I thought it was going to be me from the future, but I didn't have enough facts to support the deduction. The vision was only so long, I didn't get enough out of it."

John glared up at his friend but chose not to comment. "So if he's not you from the future, who is he?"

"What the hell?" came a groggy voice from the couch. The detective and the blogger turned to face the man on their furniture. He was leaning up on one elbow and his other arm was wrapped around his torso, staring at the two of them in confusion. "What the…ah, hell." He let himself fall back onto the couch with a moan. "This is not happening…"

John walked over. "Hey, take it easy, okay? You've had a pretty nasty cut."

The man let out a short laugh. "Yeah, 'cut' would be a bit of an understatement." He locked eyes with Sherlock from across the room. "So who are you?"

"I could ask the same question."

"I asked first." Sherlock glared and his look-alike grinned. John ran a hand over his face.

"Oh, God, now there's two of you…"

Sherlock sighed. "My name's Sherlock Holmes."

The man raised an eyebrow and looked over at John. "Yeah, I think I remember you calling me—" He stopped short. "Wait, did you say 'Sherlock Holmes?' As in, the detective?"

"The one and only," Sherlock stressed.

"But that…that doesn't make any sense." He grimaced as he sat up. "It's not the Victorian era."

John looked confused. "Uh, no. Twenty-first century."

"Well, that's not right." He swung his legs over the side of the couch and sat all the way up, breathing heavily. "The name's Doctor Stephen Strange by the way." His face lit up and he pointed at John. "Wait, if he's Sherlock Holmes, that would make you Doctor Watson, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, that's me."

Sherlock stepped forward. "I assume you have the answers to many of our questions. Care to share?"

Stephen took a breath. "This will sound a bit crazy to a mind as rational as  _Sherlock Holmes_ , but—"

"I've spent the last year working mutant cases alongside SHIELD and my doppelganger is sitting on my couch, not a lot can sound crazy to me these days."

Stephen shrugged. "Fair enough. In that case I'll be blunt – I'm a sorcerer from an alternate dimension where Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson are fictional book characters from the late 1800s. There've been a few movie adaptations over the years," he added as an afterthought. "That's beside the point. Anyway, I've dealt with one of the Avengers before – long story – but mostly I stay out of their business. My battles are different from theirs. Definitely as important though, just not as noticeable. Magic kinda lays low – people on this planet have enough to worry about with gods, aliens, and monsters on their plate, they don't need to worry about sorcery too." Stephen grimaced as he shifted on the couch. "I didn't exactly hop dimensions on purpose though. I've been dealing with an old friend of mine as of late and he stole a book from Kamar-Taj. Basically sorcerer headquarters," he explained with a dismissive hand wave. "He used one of the spells to banish me here. It's possible to cross dimensions without a specific spell, but I've only ever known one person to have that kind of power. But if the Avengers exist in this reality," he stood up slowly, "I can probably find a way back—"

When he reached his full height his face contorted in pain and he doubled over. John rushed to the surgeon's side and helped him back down onto the couch. "Well you're in no position to go anywhere right now. Surely you can take time off to rest. Your dimension isn't going to collapse while you're away."

Stephen scoffed. "You'd think." He accepted the glass of water John offered him.

Sherlock perched himself in his armchair. "Is Kamar-Taj in Katmandu?"

Stephen was taken aback. "Uh…yeah. How'd you know that?" He shook his head. "Right. Sherlock Holmes." He smiled a bit. "I remember my Sherlock Holmes unit in my high school British Literature class."

"You had a Sherlock Holmes unit?" John questioned.

"Well, yeah. We had a Jane Austen unit, Chaucer, Shakespeare, Conan Doyle – he's the guy who wrote the Sherlock Holmes stories – and Dickens." He shook his head to himself with a sigh. "God, I hated Dickens." John couldn't help but laugh and Stephen smiled.

"Well luckily for you, it would seem Kamar-Taj exists in this reality," Sherlock interrupted.

Stephen looked shocked. "What? Are you sure?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Fairly sure. I've been looking into it." He gestured to his flatmate. "It would seem a sorceress visited John while he was in the hospital. A mutant had forced him onto the astral plane and she brought him back."

"Hm. Sounds like a sorcerer's work. In that case, I'll just pop off to Nepal and be on my way." He caught the look John shot him and held up a hand. " _After_  I've recovered. I am a doctor too, you know."

"Neurosurgeon, yes?" Stephen stared at Sherlock with wide eyes. "That is until you injured your hands." Stephen stole a brief glance down at his hands. "How'd it happen? Vehicle accident would be my guess. Driving while distracted, were you?"

"Sherlock," John warned in his your-deductions-are-crossing-a-line voice.

Stephen closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head. "No, it's fine. He's right. I was stupid. My multi-million dollar job went down the drain, and…well, look where I am now." He shrugged. "Fighting cosmic beings, saving the world; you know, normal stuff."

John chuckled and rolled his eyes. "You're almost as bad as him," he said, jerking his head towards his flatmate. He looked down at his watch. "It's getting late. We could all do with some rest."

Stephen nodded. "Right. And thank you."

John smiled. "No problem. I'll get you a blanket." John headed up the stairs.

Stephen turned to Sherlock. "Hey." Sherlock looked over to the surgeon. "Um…Can I borrow a shirt?"

Sherlock turned to look at the discarded clothing on the floor by the bloodstain. "'Course."

"Thanks…"

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When John came down the stairs in the morning he was caught a little off guard when he saw Stephen's cloak floating in the corner of the room on its own. He stared at it for a few moments before walking into the kitchen, trying to put what he'd just seen out of his mind. The kitchen was unoccupied but the door to the washroom was open and the light was on. John walked over and peeked inside.

Stephen was standing in front of the mirror, lifting his borrowed shirt to examine his injury. He grimaced as he prodded at it. "How's it looking, Doctor?" John asked.

Stephen turned around to look at the blogger and smiled. "It looks good, Doctor." He lowered the shirt. "Thank you again."

John nodded. "Of course. Wouldn't be a very good doctor if I couldn't do my job. Hungry?"

"Starving."

The two walked into the kitchen and John attempted to make small talk as he prepared some breakfast. "So…" John began, placing a pan on the stove. "Does every person have an alternate universe counterpart?"

Stephen was a bit taken aback by the question. "Uh…To be honest I have no idea. I think – and keep in mind, I have absolutely no idea – that this is a part of the multiple worlds interpretation of the multi-verse." He raised up his hands in a form of surrender. "But I'm a neurosurgeon, not a quantum physicist," he chuckled, "I haven't the faintest clue." He shrugged. "So in answer to your question…it depends on which reality you're in. I just happened to be sent to one where I'm a famous, fictional, British detective." He let out a breath of a laugh. "Better this than some of the other ones."

John looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "Other ones?"

Stephen nodded. "Oh yeah. When I first arrived at Kamar-Taj I was shown just a portion of the multi-verses and it was absolutely terrifying." He smiled sadly to himself. "It was a scare tactic really. I was rude and she was trying to get back at me."

"And is she the one you mentioned last night? The only person to have the power to jump dimensions?"

Doctor Strange looked away. "Without a spell, yeah."

"Well, maybe she could—"

"She's dead."

There was a pregnant pause in the kitchen, only filled with the sound of the stove running.

John was unsure what to say. "Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"It's fine." He slid into a seat at the table. "She hardly got to where she was through...righteous ways if you know what I mean." He sighed. "Pacts with evil cosmic beings, draining power from hellish dimensions, all that jazz."

John chuckled and turned back to breakfast. "Sounds like you have a lot of interesting stories to tell."

"Yeah, I've got a few. No doubt you and Holmes have some crazy adventures racked up." John laughed. "Was the first case you worked together 'A Study in Scarlet?'"

"Erm, no. 'A Study in Pink.'"

"Pink?" John nodded. "Hm. Did you ever work a case called 'A Scandal in Bohemia?'"

"'Scandal in Belgravia.'"

"'Five Orange Pips?'"

"No, but we solved a case that had a lot to do with five pips on a phone." John looked over his shoulder. "These stories you've read?"

"Well, I wouldn't say  _read_. More like skimmed the period before English class."

The two of them laughed. "Procrastinator, then?" John asked.

"No, not really a procrastinator; more…never really got into English. I mean, I liked the characters enough, but the plots were always… _meh_."

John cracked a smile. "Well don't let Sherlock catch you saying that." He handed a plate over to Stephen, who gave a brief 'thanks.' John sat down across from the other doctor and paused, looking at him in concern. "Are you alright? You look pale."

"That's my natural complexion, Doctor Watson."

"Haha," John said humorlessly, "you know what I mean."

Stephen rolled his eyes. "Well, I  _did_  get stabbed last night and haphazardly stitched up on the floor of a random apartment in London."

"Oi!"

"Sorry."

John sighed apologetically. "If anything that proves my point. You aren't going to heal from that overnight. I know you're eager to get back to your own universe but you're hardly in a state to do so." The two fell into an awkward silence as they ate. Eventually, John spoke up again. "Sherlock still asleep?"

Stephen nodded. "Either that or he snuck out really early this morning."

"He rarely sleeps, but when he does he  _hibernates_." John set down his fork. "So if your Sherlock's counterpart, or he's yours, or whatever…then what about me? Am I still…me in your reality?"

Stephen paused to think. "Probably not, considering the books are around and everything."

"Right, of course."

"But I do feel like I recognize you. I don't know, maybe my dimension's version of you was on TV or something. And if you're involved with SHIELD here, who's to say you aren't back in my reality."

The sound of a door opening interrupted the doctors' conversation. They looked over to see Sherlock standing in the doorway to his bedroom. "Well, look who decided to join us," John said.

"You keep saying I need more sleep and now you're teasing me for getting it? That's low, John, I'd expect better from you." John grinned and Sherlock began to heat up the kettle. "Tea?"

John pulled a face. "You never offer to make tea. Don't think I forgot what happened the last time I let you make my tea."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I didn't think you would. And I'll have you know I was simply trying to be generous."

"Well I'll take you up on your offer," said Stephen.

Sherlock turned back to the kettle. "He trusts me," the grumpy detective muttered.

Eventually, John decided to confront the elephant in the room. "So," he began, "what's with the cape?"

Stephen looked over his shoulder at the cloak, still floating in the corner by the sofa. "Oh. Cloak of Levitation. I'm surprised you didn't notice it last night."

"Well, it wasn't floating on its own last night."

"Hm. Weird. Usually it gets in the way of everything. I guess it must've realized the situation was important."

Sherlock turned around. "It  _realized_."

Stephen shrugged. "Well…yeah…It is an enchanted relic. It knows things."

Both Sherlock and John decided it was best not to comment.

There was a knock on the door by the steps. "Oh," said Mrs. Hudson, "sorry to bother you, dearie, but—" Then she caught sight of the carpet. "You've got blood on my floor again!" She looked over into the kitchen and saw Stephen. "Sherlock, who's this?"

Sherlock walked over to his landlady. "Relative. So sorry about the floor, Mrs. Hudson, I'll take care of it." He began ushering her back to the door.

"I didn't know you had another brother!"

"Yes, yes, just send them up, thank you." She made her way down the stairs and Sherlock let out a sigh.

Stephen raised an eyebrow. "Brother?" Sherlock simply offered back an exasperated expression.

The sound of footsteps caused the occupants of 221B to turn. John got up out of his seat and walked into the sitting room. A young man who couldn't have been any older than twenty-one appeared on the threshold. He looked around warily. "Mr. Holmes?" the boy asked, a hint of an American accent in his voice. Sherlock nodded. "You worked the Juliet Michelson case, didn't you?"


	19. SIP

"What's your name?"

The young man wrung his hands, looking around 221B. "Thomas Snyder."

"You're related to Juliet Michelson, I take it." Thomas nodded. "Cousin?" Thomas nodded again. Sherlock gestured to the couch. Thomas walked over and took a cautious seat on the edge of the sofa. His eyes landed on the blood stain and cut up clothes. Sherlock followed the boy's gaze and waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about that." Thomas gulped and looked back at Sherlock, who took a seat in his usual armchair. "I worked the Michelson case over a year ago. Why come now? What's happened?"

Thomas took a deep breath. "I realized that SIP's becoming a threat." He stared down at his hands. "I-I've known a lot for a long time, but…I-I just couldn't…" His voice broke and John took a seat near him. Thomas tried to compose himself. "I couldn't bring myself to think about it. Juliet and I were…we were basically siblings. We grew up next door to each other, we played together, we…It hurt… _so bad_  when I lost her." He looked up at the detective with tears in his eyes. "But I know I have to do something about it."

Sherlock leaned back. "Then share what you have to share."

Stephen peeked in from the kitchen, trying to stay out of the way, but still interested in the conversation at hand.

Thomas nodded. "I-It's quite a lot to tell. I suppose it would be easier to show you."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "And can you do that?"

Thomas nodded once again and everything went dark.

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Juliet was only seven, Thomas was eleven. The two of them were playing tag in Juliet's front yard and Juliet was giggling fiercely through her panting. "That's," she huffed, "not fair!" She tried to take a moment to breathe but squealed when her cousin caught up to her.

Thomas's hand brushed Juliet and he turned on his heel and ran. "Tag! You're it!"

Juliet growled and began sprinting after her much faster relative. "Slow down!" There was a sudden flash of light and Juliet was right on top of Thomas. The two crashed to the ground and panted. Juliet quickly got on her hands and knees and scrambled away. She stared at Thomas as he sat up. "T-Thomas?" Thomas stared at his cousin in disbelief. "T-Thomas, I-I didn't—"

The boy rushed over to his cousin. "Hey. Hey, you're okay."

Juliet burst into tears. "I-I'm so s-sorry," she said through sobs. "I-I did-didn't mean t-to…"

Thomas held the girl closer. "Sh, I know you didn't mean to. It's okay."

Juliet buried her face into her cousin's shirt. "I thought I could control it," she muttered tearfully. "I-I'm not as strong as you."

Thomas shook his head. "Well maybe you're not as muscle-y as me," he said, poking his cousin's arm, "but there's no way you aren't as strong." The young girl gave a brief laugh through her tears. "I learned to keep a reign on my powers and you will too."

"Yeah, but your powers are  _different_."

"Which is why you're even stronger than me. Anyone can keep themselves from seeing the past, but it takes someone ultra-powerful to learn to go wherever they want to go whenever they want to." Thomas stood up with a grin on his face. "If you wanted to leave school, you could! Just for recess. Instead of being stuck on the playground you could…you could go see the pyramids!" Juliet smiled as she stared up at her over-dramatic cousin. "Or…or you could go to the Eiffel Tower!"

"I kinda wanna see the Eiffel Tower…" Juliet muttered softly.

"Then once you're older and can control your powers better we can do that! We'll go see the Eiffel Tower together, alright?"

Juliet sniffed as Thomas helped her to her feet. "Promise?"

"Pinky-promise."

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Thomas was older now, about sixteen. He was sitting on his bed looking ahead blankly. There was a flash of light and Juliet was sitting next to him. "Hey-ya!"

Thomas jumped about a foot in the air. "Jeeze, Juliet! Don't do that!"

The girl immediately sensed something was off. "Thomas, what's wrong?"

The teen looked away, refusing to meet his cousin's eyes. "Mom's moving."

Juliet stood up. "What? No, what? Where?"

Thomas shook his head. "She's getting back together with my dad."

Juliet was silent for a moment as things clicked. "England. You're moving to England." It wasn't a question.

Thomas nodded. "London."

"No, Thomas! You-you can't move to  _London_!"

"Well, it's hardly my choice, is it?"

Juliet began pacing the room, unable to find words. "I-wha'-no! No, you can't move."

In a fit of rage, Thomas jumped to his feet. "Nothing's changing for you, Juliet!" Juliet stopped short, staring at her cousin. "You can still visit me whenever you feel like it, you'll still live in the same house you've lived in for your  _entire life_ , but I'm gonna be stuck across the Atlantic!"

The room was tense as neither relative spoke. Thomas took a deep breath and lowered himself back onto his bed. "You will visit, won't you?"

Juliet rushed over to her cousin's side, throwing herself onto the bed and wrapping her arms around Thomas's neck. "Yes.  _Yes_ , I'll visit." She laughed. "I have always wanted to see the London Eye." Thomas cracked a sad smile.

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Thomas and Juliet sat on a bench in Regent's Park a year or two later. Juliet had a pad of paper in one hand and a pen in the other. There were several games of tic-tac-toe etched across the page. She snickered and drew an X. "I win!" she boasted.

Thomas grabbed the paper and pulled it closer to her face. "What! No!" Juliet laughed and Thomas made a face. "I swear you cheat."

Juliet rolled her eyes. "How do you cheat at tic-tac-toe?" She capped her pen smugly. "I just have a method of winning is all."

The older teen was about to talk back when the two of them were approached. A woman stood in front of them, flanked by two men. Both Thomas and Juliet stiffened, not liking the vibe they were getting. The woman smiled, but it did not feel kind. "Ms. Juliet Michelson and Mr. Thomas Snyder, am I correct?"

Juliet looked to Thomas to take the lead. Thomas held his head high. "Yes. And who are you?"

The woman offered a tight, forced smile. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that." She gestured to the men who nodded and left. At least, moved further away. "But I can tell you that I have a proposition that may interest you." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card. It was white with a grey icosahedron on one side and the letters  **S.I.P**. on the other. Juliet and Thomas stared at it for a moment and the woman continued to speak. "Surely you've seen the news regarding the Avengers and the problems they deal with."

"Well if you have anything to do with them I don't know why you'd be coming to us," Thomas said.

"I'm sure you have a bit of an idea." She cocked her head. "I'm well aware that the two of you come from a line of mutants. However, it would seem it skipped a generation and your mothers never received any mutation. But you two have."

Juliet unconsciously scooted closer to the safety of her cousin. Thomas glared up at the woman. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The woman scoffed. "Please save yourself the trouble. We know that you have some form of…psychometry." She turned to Juliet. "And we know you have teleportation."

Juliet swallowed uneasily. Thomas briefly glanced at his cousin then back at the woman. "What do you want?"

"The organization I work for wants to make you – and others like you – feel safe in this world. In a world that so hastily rejects powers they don't comprehend." She looked at Juliet. "I understand it must be very difficult keeping your abilities hidden. Do your parents even know?"

Thomas got to his feet and, at his full height, towered over the woman. The men who'd come with her were by her side immediately. She held up a hand. Thomas was breathing heavily as he looked around at the men flanking him. "I simply offer you both a way to have a place in this world without having to hide who you really are." She waved off the men and they stepped back, still on guard. "SIP stands for Superhuman Integration Program. I'm sure you can make out what we intend to do." Thomas backed off but did not sit down. The woman sighed. "If you ever find interest in what we have to offer let us know. We'll be keeping an eye out." She nodded to the men and they left.

As soon as they'd gotten out of earshot Thomas grabbed Juliet's hand and began to run. "Thomas?" He paid no heed. "Thomas!" Juliet yanked her hand out of her cousin's grip. "Thomas, please—"

Thomas whipped around. "Juliet, we need to get out of here. Go home, you aren't safe here. Your parents are expecting you to be back soon anyway." He ran a hand through his hair and began to pace. "This is bad, this is really bad."

Juliet stared at the business card in her hands. "Maybe it's not."

Thomas turned to face his younger cousin. "I'm sorry, what?"

Juliet looked up. "Maybe it's not all bad." Thomas opened his mouth but Juliet spoke first. "No, Thomas, listen to me! We are  _not_  the same! You can – I dunno – freakin'  _mind-meld_  or whatever! My powers are  _so_  much different from yours! You might be okay with never using the gifts you have, but I'm not!" She looked like she was on the verge of tears. "I can't live like this anymore." She turned and began to run. Thomas's eyes went wide and he tried to chase after her.

"No! Juliet, you can't—"

Right before he managed to grab her, she disappeared in a flash of light.

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It was late. And dark. Thomas was at the same bench as earlier, pacing by it fretfully. Unsure what to do with his hands he tugged on his trousers, wrung them, ran them through his hair, anything to rid himself of the scared energy he was full of. He heard people approaching and turned around. There was the woman, flanked by two lackeys once again. He held his head high. "What can you tell me about your organization and what have you done with my cousin?"

The woman cocked her head. "Well those answers are only given to members of our organization."

Thomas clenched his jaw. "Alright then." He stuck out his hand and nodded to it. "I want in."

The woman smiled and accepted the handshake. Then Thomas used his powers first the time in a very long while.

_Juliet was surrounded by several armed people, the woman at the head of the group. Juliet was panicked. "What now?"_

_The woman stepped forward. "We have to monitor your abilities. You know, just so we can get a ballpark as to what we're working with." She gestured to one of the men and he came forward, a piece of metal in his hands._

_Juliet stepped back. "What is that?"_

" _Just a device to help us get the readings. Don't worry, Ms. Michelson, you're perfectly safe." The man clicked it on around Juliet's wrist and a green light turned on. Juliet reached over to it. "I would suggest you don't mess with it. It's still a prototype after all."_

_Juliet looked up with terror in her eyes. "You hooked me up to a_ prototype _?!" She looked around frantically. "No. No, I want out!"_

_The woman sighed in exasperation. "I'm afraid we can't do that. You see, we don't get volunteers that often."_

" _What are you talking about? Volunteers? What do you maniacs do?!" The light on Juliet's 'bracelet' turned red and she stared at it in fear. She looked up at everyone and the woman in charge could tell what was coming._

" _I suggest you don't use your powers, Ms. Michelson, you'll only hurt yourself more than us."_

" _BS," Juliet spat. There was a brief flicker of light and the sound of electricity cracking. Juliet cried out and doubled over, falling to one knee._

" _Agent Walton?"_

_The woman turned around to see a man approaching. She nodded respectfully. "Director Williams."_

_The man folded his arms and walked into the group. "This is the teleporter, hm?"_

" _Yes, sir."_

_Director Williams walked up to Juliet and knelt down to reach her eye level. Juliet looked up, tears on her cheeks. Williams gave a smile. "Miss, we only want to help the mutants of this world. I hope you come to realize that what you've offered to do will help further our work tremendously."_

_Juliet winced as she got to her feet. She did her best to stand tall. Williams stood to meet her. Juliet scowled at the man. "I hope you all go to hell." She spat in his face._

_Williams closed his eyes for a moment, taking a few deep breaths. He wiped his face and sighed. "Very well. You can believe what you want, it doesn't change our plans." He grabbed Juliet's arm and she tried to tug away. She let out a yelp of pain when Williams tightened his grip. He brought her wrist closer and examined the bracelet. "Hm. I suggest you don't try to teleport without our receiving orders from us to do so. The further away you try to go, the more intense the shock will be." He shrugged. "At least, that's the hope."_

_He released Juliet and she pulled her arm back, cradling it. Director Williams turned to his agents. "Take her to room four." The agents nodded and grabbed Juliet. She fought back and screamed and protested, but she was dragged down the hall nonetheless._

" _Don't worry," Williams called after her, "once we finish the basics you will be allowed to return home."_

Thomas gasped as he released Agent Walton's hand. The agent's eyes were wide, but she quickly composed herself. "Clever," she mused. "However, I'm afraid we can't let you go." She gestured to the men behind her and they began to close in on Thomas.

In a moment of panic (and extreme bravery), Thomas took off. He knew that as long as his legs were and as fast as he was, he still wouldn't be able to outrun them for long.

Thomas sprinted down the path, hoping with all his might he could make it to the street before they caught up with him. He thanked God when he did. He turned, dodging the few people that were out at this time of night. Thomas risked a glance over his shoulder and saw the men gaining on him. Heart pounding, Thomas dove into an alley. He saw the chain link fence at the end and jumped, climbing with all his might. The man rounded the corner and Thomas ran. He knew the fence would put some distance between him and the men, but he wouldn't have a lot of time to lollygag.

Thomas huffed as his legs began to ache and it felt like he'd been running forever. But he couldn't stop now, he couldn't. He weaved between buildings and roads, trying to take advantage of the darkness. Eventually, he saw something he recognized – Euston Station. Thomas willed himself to run faster. As he approached the tube station he stole another glance behind him. The men were further behind but had not lost sight of him and were gaining. Thomas saw one patron trying to get into the station, inserting his card. With his morals out of the window due to the situation, Thomas shoved the man out of the way, using the card to get into the station. "Oi, mate! What the heck are ya doing?"

Lucky for Thomas, the Underground hadn't closed yet. There were only a few more trains coming that night. Thomas took the stairs two at a time and sprinted down the escalators. He zigzagged through platforms, trying to throw off his pursuers. He spotted the doors of a train about to close and jumped, barely making it on. Thomas landed on the floor and stayed there, not wanting to stand up in fear that the agents would see him. The train began to leave and once it caught up to full speed, Thomas let out a sigh of relief.

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Reality came falling back as Thomas finished sharing his memories. Sherlock and John panted and shared a look with each other. The tension was broken when there was a crash from the kitchen. Everyone turned and saw Stephen on the floor, grasping the table and trying to hold himself up. He grimaced as he struggled to get to his feet. John stood and hurried to the surgeon's side, helping him up. Thomas looked very ashamed.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't know there was anyone else in here. I just…I expanded it to the whole room thinking—"

Stephen waved his hand. "It's fine, you're fine."

John put a hand on Stephen's head. "You're burning up."

Stephen swatted the hand away. "I'm fine."

John rolled his eyes. "You are just as bad as Sherlock." He led him over to a chair, sitting him down. "You're likely fighting off an infection from that hole in your side."

"Yeah, I figured."

Satisfied that the sorcerer wouldn't be falling again, John looked over to Thomas. "I'm very sorry about what happened. You were right to come to us."

Sherlock stood and began pacing the room. "Thank you for the information you've provided us, Mr. Snyder. How have you been avoiding SIP?"

"I've spent the last year house hopping, staying at hostels, and occasionally not staying anywhere."

Sherlock pulled out his phone and shot off a text. "We have associates in high places who could keep you safe until we've stopped SIP."

Thomas nodded. "Thank you. I…I just want to start over." He got very quiet. "I want to forget any of this ever happened."

"Well we may not be able to help you with that last one," said John, "but we can definitely help you get a clean slate."

Sherlock's phone rang and all eyes turned to it. The blocked number caused a lot of unease. Sherlock answered his mobile. "Sherlock Holmes."

" _Mr. Holmes, I do believe you have one of my assets at your flat."_  Sherlock's eyes flickered to Thomas and the young man shrunk back.

"Director Williams. It's been a while, hasn't it?" Thomas and John stared at the detective with wide eyes. Sherlock put the mobile on speakerphone.

" _Well, yes, I suppose. However, you're avoiding the question."_

"Do I have one of your assets at my flat? Hm. No."

" _You're a terrible liar, Mr. Holmes."_

Stephen looked over at his discarded clothing across the room. He slowly got up and John shot him a look.

"Really?" Sherlock said. "I thought I was rather good considering my line of work."

John gestured for Stephen to sit down, but he knelt down next to his clothes and started rummaging through.

" _If you aren't lying you won't mind if I check for myself, will you?"_

Sherlock looked out the window and saw a car pull up to the kerb. "Not at all." Stephen found what he wanted and unsteadily got to his feet.

" _I suppose I'll see you in a moment then."_  The line went dead.

Doctor Strange stumbled over to Thomas, putting on his sling ring. He turned to the others. "I'll get him out of here."

"How?" John asked. "Williams is waiting for us outside."

"Take him to SHIELD headquarters," said Sherlock.

Stephen paused. "I don't know where that is."

Williams was getting out of the car. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Manhattan."

"That's not very helpful."

"Figure something out then!" Williams was approaching the door.

"Right." He raised his hands and a portal similar to the one last night began to form. Stephen looked at Thomas and jerked his head. "Go on." Thomas hesitated for a moment but hurried through. Stephen looked over his shoulder. "I'll be back in ten minutes." Sherlock nodded and Stephen walked through the portal. It disappeared behind him.

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Thomas and Stephen stepped out of the portal and it disappeared. Stephen doubled over, resting his hands on his knees and panting. His body was definitely fighting something off. Thomas looked around at the large room in amazement. Stephen nodded when he saw the New York skyline out the window. "Yeah, I think this is it." The elevator doors slid open and out stepped Tony Stark, half awake and unamused. Stephen straightened up. Tony spotted Thomas and Stephen and halted. Stephen nodded. "And that's my cue." He pointed at Thomas. "Take him to SHIELD headquarters, they're expecting him. I assume you know where that is."

"…Yeah…Who are you?"

Stephen was already stepping through a new portal. When in disappeared Tony stood in shock for a moment. Then he sighed and shook his head. "It's too early for this."

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Sherlock and John stood still as Director Williams made his way up the stairs. Three agents trailed behind Williams and they entered the flat. Williams looked around casually. He cocked his head. "Find him." The three agents split up and began searching the flat. Sherlock and Williams stared each other down as Williams crossed the room. The director looked down at the bloodstain. "Guest?"

"Accident," Sherlock said.

Williams nodded slowly, making his way around the sitting room. "I asked you not to meddle in problems that weren't yours." He tutted. "It would seem you two aren't very good listeners."

"Oh we heard you alright," John said dangerously.

Williams raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Then why are you still so  _problematic_."

"Simply doing our jobs."

"Jobs, hm? Dealing with mutants is your job now?" He walked over to the table near the window. "Last I checked you were a doctor," he pointed at Sherlock, "and you were a detective." He picked up John's wallet and began sifting through it. "Now why on earth would dealing with mutants be your job?" He pulled out the SHIELD ID and flipped it open. He sighed as if he were disappointed. "Ah. SHIELD agents." He tossed the ID down onto the table and turned to face the doctor and the detective. "Well, I suppose it was only a matter of time."

The three men came back into the sitting room. "There's no sign of him, sir." Williams bit his cheek and glared at his men. He turned back to Sherlock and John.

Sherlock shrugged. "What did you expect? I told you there was no one here."

Williams cracked a smirk. "Well then.  _Agent_  Holmes," he looked at John, " _Agent_  Watson." He held his chin up high. "I'll be seeing you again."

He turned to leave when a portal appeared in the room. Everyone stood stock still as Stephen walked out and the portal disappeared. Stephen halted when he saw Director Williams and the agents. Williams raised an eyebrow. "Well, this is an interesting…development." He cocked his head. "Who are you?"

Stephen looked over at Sherlock and John. Sherlock was less than pleased. "That was  _hardly_  ten minutes."

Williams looked over his shoulder at Sherlock. "It would seem you have a twin, Mr. Holmes." He looked back at Stephen. "That was quite the feat you just pulled. Teleportation?"

Stephen was hesitant to answer. "Of a sort."

Williams stepped closer to the inter-dimensional traveler. "What else can you do?"

Stephen's eyes flickered towards the agents behind Williams. "Take out you lot if you're thinking of trying anything stupid."

"I've encountered almost every kind of mutant on this planet but I've never seen something quite like that."

"Not a mutant," Stephen said quickly.

"Then what would you call that?"

"Magic."

Director Williams laughed. "Whatever you say." He looked over at one of the agents and the lackey stepped forward.

Stephen groaned. "Today is just  _not_  my day, is it?" From behind, the agent was pulled back.

"…The hell?" the agent muttered. He stumbled and the cloak wrapped itself around his body.

One of the other agents stepped forward and Stephen took a fighting stance. He summoned a shield and knocked it into the agent's face, throwing him back. The third agent made a move, but John stepped forward to stop him. The second agent got back up from the ground and ran back at Stephen.

Williams turned to Sherlock while the others fought. "Well, you're all much more trouble than you're worth."

Sherlock stepped forward. "I don't think you'll be getting away that easily, do you?" He took a pair of handcuffs out from a nearby drawer, giving them a casual toss. "I'm sure SHIELD would be quite pleased if I managed to bring you in."

Director Williams raised an eyebrow. "You really think you can apprehend me that easily?" He shook his head and actually laughed. "You forget, Mr. Holmes, I have a  _motive_  for what I do." He rushed forward and wrapped a single hand around Sherlock's neck. Instinctively, Sherlock dropped the cuffs and reached up in an attempt to pry away the director's hands. Williams lifted Sherlock up off the ground. "I'm just like the rest of them: looked down on, considered a monster, forced to hide who I really am." He grinned. "But without SHIELD we wouldn't have to do that anymore." He threw Sherlock across the room and the detective collided with the wall, causing a crack.

John turned around. "Sherlock!" In this moment of distraction, the SIP agent got in a powerful blow, knocking John to the ground.

Stephen huffed, exhausted from fighting. He was slowing down and his side was aching beyond belief. The SIP agent lifted his foot and kicked him right where his wound sat. Stephen let out a pain cry and fell against the wall. He looked down at his side and saw blood blossoming across the clothing. Not good.

Williams stepped forward, grabbing Sherlock off the ground by the collar of his shirt and lifting him to eye level. Sherlock struggled to remain on his feet. "It would be a terrible shame to kill you, Mr. Holmes," Director Williams drawled. "With a mind as brilliant as yours, it would be a crime to rid the world of it." He smiled. "Imagine what you could do if you were one of us."

"I was for a little bit," Sherlock choked out. "Wasn't very fun."

A yell caused the two to look over. The agent attacking John had disappeared and the only evidence was a vanishing portal on the floor of the flat. Some light began to shine underneath the SIP director's feet. He and Sherlock looked down. The portal below him opened up and Williams fell. Sherlock almost fell in as well, but he felt a hand grab the back of his shirt, catching him last minute. The portal snapped shut and John pulled Sherlock back, the two of them tumbling to the ground. The last agent standing tried to run, but Stephen sent him through a portal just the same. The exhausted sorcerer slumped against the wall, wheezing.

John looked over at his flatmate. "You okay?"

Sherlock waved his hand as he sat up. "Fine," he rasped. He looked over at Stephen. "Don't think he is though."

John looked towards at the half-conscious surgeon and got to his feet, hurrying over. He knelt down next to Stephen, looking over his wounds. He took one look at the reopened gash and shook his head. "We need to get you to the hospital." He helped Stephen to his feet and looked over at Sherlock. "Sherlock, can you stand?"

The detective nodded and struggled to his feet. "Well enough." His gaze made its way over to the third agent, still wrapped up in the cloak. "What about him?"

"Cloak'll keep 'im in check," Stephen mumbled.

An edge of the cloak popped a bit as if it had heard its name. John shook his head. "Fine. Whatever. You think you can make it down the stairs?" Stephen nodded and John looked at the detective. "Alright then, let's go."


	20. Teammates (1)

Sherlock had finally pestered the nurses enough that they left him alone. He'd gotten away with nothing more than bruises. Several large, deep, and extremely painful bruises, but simply bruises nonetheless. Stephen was a little less lucky. His gash had to be restitched and he ended up needing a blood transfusion. All the doctors had said it was a good thing they'd gotten him to the hospital in time – apparently the blow he received from the SIP agent had caused some internal bleeding and he definitely had an infection from the original wound.

Sherlock and John sat around in Stephen's hospital room, trying to figure out what to do next. A figure in the hall came careening through the door and screeching to a halt. "Sherlock!" Greg said breathlessly. "I was just at your flat. What happened? The lady at the front desk said your brother was—" He then caught sight of Stephen and paled significantly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and painfully got to his feet. "Lestrade, something's coming."

Lestrade glanced between Sherlock and Stephen, still unsure what to make of the situation. Stephen attempted to sit up. "Lestrade? As in, Inspector Lestrade?" He chuckled and suck back into his pillows. "I remember reading about you."

"He's still a bit loopy," John said.

Lestrade lost it. "What the hell?! Why are you so casual about this? What is going on, Sherlock, seriously? Who is that?" he asked, pointing at Stephen.

The surgeon pulled a face. "I'm right here," he mumbled.

"I'm sure you have questions, Lestrade—"

"Yeah, a few!"

"—but we don't have a lot of time." He looked over at Stephen. "SIP's moving forward."

Lestrade stood up straight. "With what?"

"Not sure. Isn't good though." Sherlock began pacing the room. "Their director is also an inhuman." He winced. "Pretty strong."

"Then what do we do?"

"Call in some favors."

Another guest entered the room. "Mr. Holmes?" There stood Vi in the doorway. Her eyes landed and Stephen and she paused, looking back and forth between him and Sherlock. "Whhyyy are there two o' you?"

Sherlock growled in frustration. He pointed at the patient. "Doctor Stephen Strange. He's from another dimension, ended up in 221B by accident and bleeding out, has magic, and he can help us if he can  _get over his intolerance to morphine_."

Stephen made a face. "Well maybe the reason I have an in…intolerance is because I'm not an addict like  _someone_ ," he slurred. All eyes turned to Sherlock and the detective looked furious. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure we took a whole class period to discuss your  _habit_."

"I am clean," Sherlock hissed. Stephen simply rolled his eyes and fell back into his pillows.

The room was tense for several moments before Vi couldn't take it anymore. "Look, why'd ya call me here?"

Sherlock turned around to face the teen. "You have other inhuman friends."

"Yeah. What of it?"

"We need all the help we can get. While I don't want to ask anyone to risk their lives, there's no way we can stop SIP without the help of some powerful mutants."

"What're we up against?" Vi asked, folding her arms.

Sherlock shook his head. "Can't be certain what yet, but other mutants most likely. And other SIP agents. There's really no telling so far."

Vi nodded. "I'll ask around. Let me know when you need us."

"You'll know." Vi looked around at the others again before leaving.

"That can't be enough, Sherlock," said John. "There's no way we're going to stop Director Williams with just the people Vi gets together."

Sherlock began to walk out of the room. "Which is why I some phone calls to make. I do believe Agent Barton offered his assistance last we saw him."

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It had been nearly twenty-four hours since Williams and his agents had attacked 221B and there was still no sign of chaos. Just waiting for something to happen was tension enough. Stephen had been released from the hospital and the trio was crashing at 221B while they waited. The surgeon was hand-sewing his clothes back together as the cloak hovered nearby. The doorbell rang and everyone shared a look.

Agent Clint Barton came up the steps not much later. He looked at the occupants of the room and raised an eyebrow. "Two of you…hm. Neat." He set his bow down on the coffee table. "Brought a friend." He looked over his shoulder and Taria entered the flat. She smiled at Sherlock and John. "Coulson said we were waiting on some man-made super mutants to rear their ugly heads." Clint shrugged. "Paraphrasing."

Taria stepped forward, offering her hand. "Mr. Holmes. Doctor Watson. It's nice to see you both again."

Each man shook her hand in turn. "You too," said John. "I'm sure Vi will be pleased to see you."

Taria's face lit up. "Yes! I have to see her!" She immediately became serious. "But I realize there are more pressing matters at hand."

"Yeah, I'd say stopping an evil mutant organization could be considered pressing," said Clint.

"Though we know you're an alien," John said, "we still don't know what you can do." At the word 'alien' Stephen looked up with wide eyes.

Taria grinned. "I've been trained in many forms of combat, including the mystic arts."

"You know magic?" Stephen said excitedly. Taria nodded. "So do I!"

Taria looked pleased, but confused. "I thought humans didn't perform magic."

"Those who do tend to lay low about," Stephen explained. "This world isn't very…accepting. Not to mention the chaos that would ensue if everyone had access to it."

Taria cocked her head. "Everyone on Orion has the chance to learn."

"Human culture's a bit different, kid," said Clint. He looked towards the others. "According to SHELD's file, Taria here is also pretty strong, pretty fast, and can jump pretty damn far."

"Good," said Sherlock, "we need all the strength we can get."

Clint's phone went off with a text alert. He pulled it out and his face fell when he saw the message. "Turn on the TV."

John reached for the remote, switching on the television. SIP had launched its attack and it was all over the news. Telekinetics had appeared all over the city and were causing a rampage. Sherlock got to his feet. "I guess that's our cue."

"Not so fast," Clint said, slinging a bag off his shoulder. "If you're going on a SHIELD ordered combat mission you've gotta at least look the part."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "They wouldn't dare."

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It wasn't hard to find Vi, all anyone had to do was look for the news channel reporting a giant monster and follow the trail from there. Thanks to Stephen all it took was a portal and a few steps to meet up with her. When everyone arrived on the scene they found Vi (well, in one of her forms) standing over a telekinetic with a snarl. The telekinetic was pinned to the ground by a young man whose hand was curled into a fist he knelt over the other mutant, ready to make a move.

The telekinetic was struggling under the other man's grip. "They said they'd stop it!" he said. "They said they'd get this outta me if I just…if I just." The man fumbled his plea, squirming under the other mutant. He shook his head. "I never wanted to do this, I never wanted to be this, I just want this to stop!" He raised his hand and sent the young man flying. Vi's monstrous form roared and kicked the man into the side of the nearest building.

Vi shrunk down and turned to face the others. "Oh, hey," she said casually, flicking a lock of hair out of her face. "I assumed this is wha' ya meant when ya said I'd know." She looked up and down Sherlock and John. "Nice suits, nerds." She then spotted Taria and her face went bright red, "Taria?"

Taria nodded, trying and failing to keep a grin from spreading across her face. "Vi. It's nice to see you again."

"Y-You too." She looked back over her shoulder when she heard the other man approaching. "Oh. This is Matt. He's a SIP escapee and he's got super strength and nearly indestructible skin." She shrugged. "I figured he could be helpful." Matt shot Vi a look.

Clint stepped forward. "You were stuck with SIP for a while, huh?"

"Yeah. Not technically a mutant, more of a…copy."

"Director Williams's copy." Matt looked over at the consulting detective. "You were the first, weren't you?"

"Great deductions, Mr. Holmes, bu' now's not the time," Vi said. "What's the plan?"

"Stop them," Sherlock said bluntly.

There was a pause. "Nice," said Matt. "Good thing you brought us all here to discuss that brilliant plan."

Clint could sense tensions rising and took the lead. "Alright, scanners say there are five telekinetics right now," he said, looking down at the device he'd brought along. "We don't want to kill anybody, but if things get out of hand you're in the right to do so. Just…try not to, okay? The best option is getting them back to SHEILD. To do that you'll need these." He passed a bag over Taria. The princess took out a pair of handcuffs not unlike those the time traveler had, many months ago. "They should keep their powers at bay while SHEILD picks up the pieces." Taria began passing along the bag and Clint turned. "Vi, Matt, you have Kensington. Taria, you take Westminster. Sherlock, John, you've got City. I'll take Islington." He looked over at Doctor Strange. "Think you can handle Southwark on your own?" The surgeon gave an affirmative nod. "Alright." The archer took his bow in hand. "Let's get to it."

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The amount of damage one person can do in a fit of rage always impressed Sherlock. And fear? Fear was even more volatile – it led to even greater damage than anger. Needless to say that a terrified telekinetic who was new to their powers was going to cause quite a bit of damage.

Sherlock wasn't  _afraid_  per se, but seeing the street in shambles with only one person in sight did unnerve him just a little bit. The man in the middle of the road paused and turned around to face the doctor and the detective.

John shifted uneasily. "Sherlock, what do we do? We aren't exactly equipped to handle this kind of situation."

"Are we not?" Sherlock held up the cuffs.

"No! No we aren't!" The telekinetic raised a hand.

"We just need to get close enough to put these on," Sherlock said quickly. With an invisible force the two men were thrown back and skidded across the road. Sherlock supposed that maybe it was a good thing he'd changed into the tactical uniform Agent Barton had brought along. Maybe.

The telekinetic approached as they both got to their feet. "I've been in a cell long enough," said the mutant. He looked over at the cuffs in Sherlock's grip. "I refuse to be anymore."

John held up a hand. "You aren't going in a cell."

"That's what the last people said." He flicked his wrist and the cuffs went soaring, landing quite a ways away. John and Sherlock made eye contact and their plan went unspoken.

Sherlock went sprinting in the direction of the cuffs and John turned to face the telekinetic. The man looked towards Sherlock but John intercepted, delivering a powerful blow across his face. The man's head whipped to the side and he took a brief moment to recuperate. In this short distraction John managed to get in another hit, making the man stumble back. He grit his teeth and John was sent crashing into the nearest building. The wind was immediately knocked out of him.

As John got up to his hands and knees, desperately trying to catch his breath, the mutant turned his attention towards Sherlock. The detective had obtained the handcuffs and was now facing the telekinetic entirely alone. Bit not good.

The man raised his hand and Sherlock was about to dive out of the way when a portal appeared right next to him. A golden rope wrapped itself around Sherlock's waist and he was yanked aside. The detective landed next to Stephen with a huff and the rope disappeared. "What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked.

"Finished early. Thought I'd stop by and help out." He looked over at John, who was shakily getting to his feet. "Looks like I had good timing." He stretched out his hand and Sherlock gave him the cuffs. "Gimme a sec." He opened a portal right next to the telekinetic and walked through. The mutant turned around, shocked to see that the sorcerer was so close to him. Stephen grabbed the man's hand and pulled him closer, putting the palm of his hand on the telekinetic's forehead. The man's eyes went wide, then he fell to the ground, unconscious.

Stephen snapped on the cuffs and straightened up. Sherlock walked over to John and the doctor waved him off. "I'm…fine. I-I just got the…wind knocked…outta me." John winced. "And I'll probably have some bruises."

Stephen made his way over to the duo. "You good?"

John nodded. "Yeah, fine," he wheezed. "Thanks by the way."

"Just—" Before he could finish his sentence, the cloak yanked him out of the way just as a car went whizzing by through the air, barely missing Sherlock and John.

The three men turned and saw Director Williams standing down the street. "Why won't you just stop being such  _problems_?" he hissed.

"Can't let something like this go ignored, Director," said John, turning to face him head on. "You've put innocent lives at stake."

"This world needs to see what happens when they refuse to let us be." He quickly began advancing.

"We're gonna need help," said Stephen. "I'll get the others." He disappeared quickly.

John and Sherlock faced the other man head-on. Williams tilted his head. "Must you really stand in my way? You're just making things all the more difficult for yourself."

"SHIELD is on our side, Director Williams," Sherlock began, trying to stall as long as he could. "You may as well stand down now. You'll only cause yourself grief if you try to fight your way through this." The director was almost face-to-face with them now.

Williams laughed. "At this point not a lot can cause me grief." He let out a growl and lunged forward, wrapping both his hands around Sherlock's neck. John whipped out his gun and fired, striking Williams in the side. The director grit his teeth but did not stumble. John's eyes went wide when he noticed that Williams was not bleeding – the bullet had not penetrated his skin. Williams turned and threw Sherlock right into his flatmate. The two men went sprawling across the ground.

Williams began to step forward but halted when a  _'thwip'_ sounded right above him and an arrow lodged itself into his arm. The man let out a cry and reached for his wound. John and Sherlock got to their feet, staring at Williams curiously. Everyone looked up to where the arrow had come from and there stood Agent Barton with Stephen and Taria by his side.

Taria stretched out her hand and her sword materialized. She took the hilt in both hands and let out a cry as she jumped down from the roof. The space princess swung her weapon in a large arc and it came crashing down above William's head. The SIP director dove out of the way and the sword clanged against the pavement. Taria grit her teeth and turned, swinging the sword again. Williams ripped the nearest lamppost out of the ground and held it in front of him. The sword went clean through it

While Taria positioned herself for the next strike, Williams got in a powerful backhand, sending Taria to the ground. Williams reached down and grabbed the girl and pulled her off the ground. Taria's sword fell from her grip.

Agent Barton aimed.

Williams saw the movement.

Clint fired.

Williams lifted Taria up to shield himself.

The arrow struck Taria in the back and the young woman let out a pained gasp.

" _NO!_ " Everyone turned around and saw Vi and Matt at the end of the street. Even from the distance they were at it was clear Vi had rage in her eyes. She began to yell and charged at Williams, changing as she went. Her scream turned into a roar and her monstrous form reached the director, mouth open wide. Williams reached out, grabbing the top and bottom jaw. His feet dug into the ground as the Vi's force pushed him back. He tightened his grip, steadied his ground, and began to lift the creature. Once Vi was fully off the ground he let out a mighty cry and tossed her at the building hosting Stephen and Clint. Both men dove out of the way as Vi's alternate form came crashing into the building, causing the top floor to crumble.

When the dust cleared the monster was gone. Vi – huddled up and crying – had taken its place.

"Sherlock," said John, "we need to regroup. We need a plan or more people are just going to keep getting hurt."

The detective was silent, taking the scene in. Director Williams standing in the road, the pavement torn up; Vi among the building's rubble, crying, trying and failing to stand; Stephen and Clint pulling themselves up, holding to what was left of the building's ledge with what little strength remained; Matt standing down at the end of the street, looking terrified; Taria lying on the ground, arrow in her back and unmoving.

If they kept fighting in this state, things would not go well. Sherlock looked up at Stephen. "Doctor Strange!" The surgeon looked over the ledge at the detective. "Can you get us out of here?" His doppelganger nodded, saying something to Agent Barton that the others couldn't hear, and opened a portal.

Stephen and Clint appeared next to Sherlock and John. "Where should we go?" Stephen asked.

Everyone looked worriedly at Director Williams, who was beginning to regain his ground. "Scotland Yard," Sherlock said.

Stephen nodded and opened a portal right next to Taria. "Doctor Watson," he said with a wince, hand unconsciously making its way towards his side, "I'm afraid I'm not in a state to be carrying Taria."

John nodded. "I've got her." He stepped through, quickly scooping up the girl from the stars and heading back.

Stephen opened a second portal. "I'll get the others, you go ahead." The others nodded, running through.

Funnily enough, they ended up directly in Lestrade's office. The DI jumped nearly a foot in the air when he saw the others step through a portal. "Christ, what the hell?!" He stared with wide eyes but spotted Taria in John's arms and immediately became concerned. "What happened?" He ran over to the door and put his hand on the knob, but Sherlock stopped him.

"Do not involve any others officers, Lestrade, do you understand?"

Greg hesitated as he watched John try to bring Taria back to consciousness. "What happened?" he repeated. "I've been watching the news, I've got officers everywhere."

"We'll explain everything, Greg," John assured, "but right now I need you to clear off your desk."

Lestrade nodded, staring at Taria in concern. "Right." He just about threw everything off, trying to clear a space for the doctor to work.

John laid Taria down on her side and Agent Barton stepped over. Lestrade reached into a desk drawer and pulled out an emergency kit, handing it off the John. "Luckily," Clint said, "this isn't my first rodeo. I've taken a lot of these things out before – from myself and others."

A portal opened once again and Stephen and Matt stepped through, the latter holding Vi up with her arm around his shoulder. She had a blank stare and was incredibly pale. "I've got Vi," Stephen said, "take care of Taria." Matt lowered Vi into the nearest chair and Stephen knelt in front of her.

John looked back at Taria. The girl's eyes were barely open, her breathing was shallow, and she was only half-conscious, but she was very much alive. "Agent Barton, I'm trusting you with this one." Clint nodded.

While the two of them got to work Sherlock pulled all the blinds, blocking them from the view of the street and the rest of the department. Lestrade stared at Taria and the arrow sticking out of her. He shook his head and turned to Sherlock. "I hope you plan on explaining to me what's going on." He made a face as he looked the consulting detective up and down. "And what you're wearing."

Sherlock scowled. "SHIELD-ordered tactical uniform." Lestrade stifled a snicker. "As much as I hate it, it is remarkably helpful in protecting against smaller wounds such as cuts and scrapes." He slid down into a chair. "As for what's going on…that's a somewhat long as well as classified story."

"Oh, come on," groaned Lestrade. "We both know you haven't been stopped by something being  _classified_  before."

There was a sickening sound as Clint slowly pulled the arrow out of Taria. "Got it!" He tossed it onto the desk. He and John got to work on stopping the bleeding.

"Inspector?" Lestrade turned around. Stephen was still kneeling in front of Vi. "Do you have a blanket?"

Lestrade nodded. "Yeah." He went back over to his desk. "'Scuse me." John stepped out of the way and Lestrade opened the bottom drawer again, pulling out the horrid orange blanket. He walked over to the sorcerer and handed it off.

"Thanks." Stephen tried to wrap the blanket around Vi, who simply shook her head.

"Why're ya puttin' this thing on me?"

"'Cause you're in shock."

"That don't mean I need a blanket, it means I need booze."

A few minutes later, John let out a sigh. "Alright." He took a step back. "She was damn lucky that thing didn't hit her spine. That…armor, or whatever, pretty much saved her. But she still needs SHEILD medical attention." He fell back into a chair, exhausted. Clint simply lowered his gaze, knuckles turning white from his grip on the desk. John could sense what was wrong. "It wasn't your fault, Agent Barton."

"Was it not?"

"You had a clear shot – Williams made the move that hurt her, not you." He shook his head. "But he's still out there." He looked around at the others. "So what's the plan?"

"If you have a plan I want in," said Lestrade.

Clint shook his head. "Sorry, Inspector, this is on SHIELD. We can't get civilians involved."

"I'm hardly a civilian."

"You are by SHIELD's standards – just a local cop. You don't need to get caught up in all of this."

Sherlock began to pace. "Williams is strong – stronger than we had anticipated. It would also seem he has a bit more to him than just inhuman strength." He turned to Matt. "Why didn't you share that information with us?"

Matt stood. "I figured you knew. You'd think you  _agents_  would know what you were going up against before you barge in guns blazing."

"Now's not the time for an argument," John warned.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Well why not enlighten us now. What can he do?"

Matt folded his arms. "We both have inhuman strength and strong skin. It's not impenetrable, as you saw back there, but it's pretty resistant. Only sharp objects – such as an arrow, a knife, or a sword – can pierce it. Something like a bullet won't work. Hurts like the devil, leaves a bruise, but doesn't break the skin."

"So all we have to do is stab the bastard?" Vi questioned. All eyes turned to her. She was still incredibly pale, but she had a murderous look in her eyes. "I can manage that."

"Vi," Stephen said, "you need to take it easy—"

"Take it easy?" Vi shouted. "This day has been anything but  _easy_. London has just faced its first non-human attack ever, people are hurt, people have died, people are  _dying_ , I think I might be gay—" she said pointing at Taria, "—well, demi, I've never liked anyone before." She shook her head. "But that's not the point. The point is, this day has been pretty rough for all of us, okay? I want it to end and if that means ending Williams I will gladly do so."

"The thing is," said Stephen, "we don't really have a way to get close to him. He's strong – way too strong. We get within a few feet he takes us out."

"So we go up against him with someone a bit more his speed," said Sherlock. Everyone turned to stare at Matt.

Matt went wide-eyed and shook his head. "Just 'cause I have his powers doesn't mean I can do what he can do. I'm not trained for anything. I kinda just throw punches until someone gets hurt. This guy's definitely trained – he'd kill me."

"Then what do we do?" muttered Clint, looking back down at Taria.

The room was silent. It all seemed impossible – then Sherlock got that look in his eyes. John noticed right away. "Sherlock? What is it?"

"There are some among us who  _are_  trained," he pointed out.

"Yes," said John, "and?"

"So what if they had Williams's powers?" he asked, staring at Matt.

"How would we do that?" Stephen asked.

Sherlock gave John a look and the doctor understood. "Oh no, you've gotta be kidding.…"


	21. Teammates (2)

When Mrs. Tilshock answered the door and found the same man on her doorstep as a few months ago (although this time with several strangely dressed friends) she was less than pleased. Her eyes narrowed as she stared Sherlock down. "You again…"

Sherlock offered her, yet again, a false smile. "Yes, it's me again."

Mrs. Tilshock poked her head back into the house. "Grant! Someone's here for you!"

She stepped aside as the sound of running footsteps got closer. Grant appeared in the doorway, quite disheveled. His eyes went wide when he saw everyone standing beside Sherlock. "Uhh…thanks Mum." Mrs. Tilshock gave everyone a suspicious look before stepping back inside. Grant closed the door behind his mother and turned back to the guests on his porch.

"So…I'm assuming everything's terrible?"

"If you've seen the news you could guess as much," said Clint.

"We've taken care of the telekinetics," said Sherlock, "but the director of the organization in charge of this attack is a problem we have yet to solve. We were hoping you could help us."

"M-Me?" Grant stuttered. "But I…I can't—"

"We don't need you to fight, we just need you to do some power transferring."

Grant looked relieved. "Oh. Right. Yeah, I can do that." Sherlock rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath. "So what do you need?"

"Matt here," the detective said, gesturing to Matt, "has the strength necessary to defeat Director Williams, however, he's not trained enough to use them properly. But John is."

John looked over at his friend. "We never actually agreed it would be me. Agent Barton is better trained than I am."

"But if something goes south we need Barton on arrow duty since bullets won't take Williams down."

John let out a long-suffering sigh and hung his head. "You planned this from the beginning…"

"Well of course I did," said Sherlock, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Grant nodded. "Well, yeah, I can do whatever. You have it all figured out?"

John shot his flatmate a look. "Yes," he answered, "we have it figured out."

Grant nodded. "Alright then." Stephen, Sherlock, and Clint stepped back. They had opted to leave Taria and Vi with Lestrade while SHIELD came to pick them up and take them to their London medical base. "From you to you?" Grant asked, pointing at Matt then John. The others nodded. "Alright."

Grant took Matt's arm in one hand and John's in the other. The effect was instant. Matt lost all energy and his legs gave out from under him. Clint caught the young man before he hit the ground. John on the other hand stumbled back with the burst of energy he was given, nearly toppling into Sherlock. Grant grimaced. "You good?"

Matt waved Clint off, steadying himself. "Yeah, we're fine." John nodded along.

"Did it work?" Grant asked.

Matt looked down at the metal rails lining the stairs leading up to the house. He grabbed in and pushed. Nothing happened. All eyes turned to John. The doctor shook his head, backing up. "I am not destroying his house, thank you."

Matt stared down at his hands. "It's gone." The others turned to look at him.

"Yes, that is how it works," said Sherlock. "Don't worry; John will return your abilities after we stop Williams."

He turned but Matt spoke up again. "I don't want them back." Sherlock slowly turned back around.

John looked panicked. "What? Well I don't want them! They aren't mine!"

"They aren't mine either!" Matt retorted. "They were never supposed to be mine! I'm a  _copy_ , Doctor Watson. This," he pointed to himself, "is normal." He gestured John up and down. "Not that!"

"Settle down," ordered Clint. The others fell silent. "Right now we focus on stopping Williams. We will fight this out later." He offered a glare to Matt, who gave one right back. He turned to Grant. "Thank you for your help."

He smiled. "No problem. And good luck." The others were about to leave when he remembered. "Oh!" They halted. "And…are you Hawkeye?"

Clint smiled kindly. "I am indeed."

"Could I…Could I get a picture? Please?"

Clint shrugged. "Eh, why the heck not."

Grant smiled widely and pulled out his phone. He ran straight over to Clint, quickly snapping a picture. He pocketed the phone and turned back around. "Thank you!"

Sherlock let out an impatient sigh. "Now that we've got that over with, let's get on with what we're here to do."

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It was as if Williams was waiting for them. He stood casually in Hyde Park, just…waiting. A couple of SHIELD agents had attempted to approach but had been unsuccessful. He wanted  _them_. Williams got his wish as John came into view. He offered a sardonic smile. "How nice of you to join me, Doctor Watson," he said. He cocked his head. "Where are your friends?"

"Safe," John said.

"So it's just you?"

"Yes." That, of course, was a lie. Clint was positioned across the street, ready to take any shots necessary. Sherlock and Stephen were with him. They had left Matt under the watchful eye of some SHIELD agents, not wanting the kid to make a run for it.

Williams nodded slowly, trying to guess what he was playing at. "And why did you decide to make the stupid decision of coming alone?"

John began to approach the SIP director. "Because I don't want anyone else to get hurt. I understand what you're trying to do, really, I do, but you're putting innocent lives in danger."

Williams scoffed. "Hardly innocent. They hate and fear anyone unlike themselves."

John shook his head. "That's not true. There are  _countless_  people who do not view inhumans as monsters. There are people dedicated to pretty much what you do, just in a less violent manner."

"Oh, like SHIELD? I'm fully aware of their true intentions. They're selfish – thinking only of themselves. So if you work for them, what does that make you?" John and Williams were face-to-face, tensions were high. "Why must you waste your life working for an organization so…" Williams curled his hand into a fist, trying to find the right word. "…fragile?"

Williams threw a punch. Having seen the signs, John effectively dodged out of the way. The doctor took a swing himself, hitting William's straight in the gut. The director had not anticipated the blow being so powerful. He stumbled backward and coughed. He looked back up at John, doubled over. "…What?"

John shrugged. "I figured it should be a fair fight."

A grin slowly spread across the director's face. "What kind of mutants do you know? Can you introduce me?" In response, John threw another punch. Williams grabbed his wrist before John's fist made contact, tightening his grip. John gritted his teeth, trying not to let the searing pain distract him. He lashed out with a kick, sending Williams flying across the ground and tearing up the grass.

Williams was thrown off for a moment but quickly regained his composure. He smiled sickly as he got to his feet. "You're a pretty good fighter, Doctor."

"People tend to forget," said John, walking over to Williams "that I was an  _army_  doctor." Williams grit his teeth and sent several hits John's way. The doctor tried to keep up, but after not fighting like this in so long, he fell behind. He went sprawling across the grass, dizzy as he tried to regain his footing.

John felt a strong hand on his bad shoulder and he was lifted to his feet. Williams dug his fingers into John's shoulder and the army vet let out a pained yell. "Hit a soft spot, did I?" Williams drove John back onto the ground, hand still curled around his shoulder.

John grit his teeth, trying to bite back the pain. He kicked wildly, trying to get in any kind of hit. John managed to kick Williams's kneecap and the director fell. John stumbled blindly to his feet, disoriented from the pain. Williams ran at the doctor, but John deflected the attack, pulling Williams into an immobilizing hold. The director struggled (quite impressively) but John kept his grip.

John heard some screams and looked up. A SIP agent was approaching, Grant in his grasp. The kid struggled, trying to pull himself away, but he was no match for the agent. The SIP agent pulled out a gun, holding it to Grant's head. "Doctor Watson, I suggest you release Director Williams this instant." He cocked the gun and Grant's frantic screams turned into whimpers. "That is, unless you  _want_  this kid's blood on your hands." He looked down at Grant. "He's a friend, I take it? A mutant?"

John hesitated. He glanced quickly down at Director Williams, then back up at Grant. The kid was absolutely terrified. His legs had gone out from under him and he was just about being dragged along by the SIP agent. "You and your friends really ought to work on stealth – you're just too easy to track."

Perhaps Agent Barton would intervene – stop the agent before he hurt Grant. But after what happened with Taria…John considered it unlikely.

But it was worth the risk.

John looked in the direction of Clint, trying to give him a cue. This, however, did not go unnoticed by the SIP agent. The agent threw Grant onto the ground, aimed, and shot.

Everything happened so fast, it took John a moment to process what happened. He yelled, twisted his arms which resulted in a loud crack, and ran at the agent. Before he reached the SIP agent an arrow lodged itself inside of the man. The agent fell to the ground with a groan. John landed on his knees next to Grant and scooped the kid up. "No, no, no, no, no." The kid was limp and lifeless in the doctor's arms. John didn't even realize Stephen, Clint, and Sherlock appear next to him. "No, kid, come on, no, no, don't do this. Come on, Grant!"

"John." Sherlock knelt down next to his flatmate. John didn't even notice him; he just kept trying to find a way to fix what had happened and muttering under his breath. "John, look at me." Sherlock placed a hand on John's shoulder. The doctor flinched but didn't turn around. "John,  _look at me_." Slowly, John turned around and looked up at his flatmate. "You're okay – it's okay."

Sherlock watched as his friend's expression changed. He realized a little too late that 'it's okay' probably wasn't the best thing to say. "No," said John in a dangerous voice, "it's not okay." He got to his feet, staring at his flatmate. "It's  _not_  okay! He's dead, Sherlock!" He looked down at Grant and frantically ran his blood-covered hands through his hair. "You don't care! You  _really_  don't care, do you? He's  _dead_ , Sherlock, and all you can say is 'it's okay?!'" He shoved the detective and Sherlock went skidding a good ways across the grass.

John halted. He watched as Sherlock struggled to get to his feet. In his peripheral vision he saw Stephen take a step back and Clint tighten his grip on his bow. After a moment Clint walked over to Sherlock and offered him a hand. "You good?"

The detective nodded as he got to his feet. "Fine. I'm fine." All eyes turned to John.

John was silent as he stole a glance down at his hands. They were red, far too red. He vaguely heard Clint talking into his earpiece. "Yes, sir, a hostage situation. One casualty…Yes, he was a mutant. Director Williams has been neutralized."

Director Williams. John had forgotten all about him. He turned around and saw the man's lifeless body not far behind him, his head at an awkward angle. It was only then he realized what he'd done.

Sherlock noticed the look on his flatmate's face and took both of John's shoulders in hand, turning him back around and away from both the bodies. "John, just look at me, alright?"

"I killed him."

"That's not important, John."

"But I did it with my bare hands…"

Sherlock looked at the others. They were equally concerned and at a loss. "Like I said, it's not important right now. We'll figure it out – we always do."

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The day was ending and Sherlock, John, and Stephen were back at Baker Street. Clint had reported back to SHIELD and told the others to expect a debriefing soon. Nobody had said a word regarding John's power predicament – no one was sure what to even say. Sherlock had since showered and changed back into his regular clothes, taking to pacing about the flat. John, however, hadn't moved from his armchair once. He was still in his SHIELD uniform and there was still evidence of Grant's blood on him.

The sound of footsteps caused everyone to turn toward the threshold. There Director Fury himself came into view. Sherlock nodded respectfully. "Director."

"Holmes." He looked over at Stephen, who was seated on the couch. "You must be Doctor Strange."

Stephen got to his feet. "That'd be me."

"Agent Barton gave me a brief synopsis of your situation. How soon can you return to your reality?"

"Hopefully as soon as I get my hands on the right book."

"Then as much as a help you've been, you should get to it – can't have you involving yourself in dimensions you don't belong in."

Stephen paused. He looked over at Sherlock, who was silent and still. Stephen sighed. "Fair enough." He walked over to the detective and offered his hand. "It's been fun, Holmes."

Sherlock accepted the handshake. "Take care, Doctor Strange."

Stephen walked over to John, who stood to meet him. The two of them shook hands. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Watson."

"And you too," John said softly, quickly looking away.

The others shared a look. Stephen cleared his throat. "Guess I'll be off to Kamar-Taj then. Hopefully they'll have the book I need." He looked towards Sherlock. "Perhaps I'll come back, you know, just to visit." By the tone of the surgeon's voice everyone knew that would be unlikely. "Good luck. And thanks." And with that, he stepped through a whirl of light.

Once the sorcerer had left, Fury began to walk about the room. "I expect you to include everything you know about him in your reports."

"Of course," John said softly.

"What are you doing here, Director?" Sherlock questioned. "This is awfully informal for a debriefing."

"Well, I'm not exactly here for a debriefing." He looked over at John. "I just have a few things to discuss."

"There's nothing that can't be discussed in our debriefing and reports, Director Fury," Sherlock insisted.

"I do believe some of these things shouldn't wait." He looked over at John. "Rumor has it you got a little something from taking down Williams, Doctor Watson."

"I got a lot of experience, that's for sure," John said flatly.

Fury began to pace again. "I was thinking of something a little more…impactful." He paused and clasped his hands behind his back. "As much as I respect your business as your own, Agent, what happened happened during an ordered mission, thus makes it our business. Are they the exact powers of Director Williams?"

"Yes, sir."

Fury shook his head. "Purposefully not reporting an event like this is typically punished with suspension. However, due to the… _delicacy_  of the situation, I don't believe that would be the appropriate course of action. You are to report to SHIELD's London headquarters every Saturday at nine a.m. sharp until we find a way to reverse this."

"There isn't," John said. Fury raised an eyebrow. "There…There isn't a way to reverse this. The kid who did this…he…he's dead. He was the hostage shot by the SIP agent. He would have been able to reverse this, but he's…he's gone."

Fury nodded. "Very well then. You are still to report to London headquarters."

"Of course, sir."

Fury turned to leave, but Sherlock spoke up. "Have you heard anything about David Parson, Director? He was the psychic navigator inside of SIP. He said he'd escaped."

Fury paused. "We found his body not far outside of Brighton a few days ago." Sherlock nodded, processing the information. Fury looked between the doctor and the detective. "Goodnight, Holmes." He nodded at John. "Watson." And with that, he left.

Sherlock stared at his flatmate in silence. Eventually, he opened his mouth but John shook his head. "What do we do, Sherlock?"

The detective paused. "Exactly what Director Fury said."

John looked at his friend in question. "You're actually following orders? Now I know something's wrong."

Sherlock walked across the room. "John, nothing's  _wrong_. I just understand what needs to happen in this situation. I realize that SHIELD has the best resources to deal with this…" he chose his words carefully, "…development, and we are to take advantage of that."

John lowered himself back into his chair, the same blank look on his face as when he'd held Grant's body. Sherlock had seen shock first-hand and this…this wasn't shock. At least, not completely – there was something else. "Sherlock, he's dead."

Sherlock lowered his head. "Yes. But there's nothing we can do about it now."

"Sherlock, he…god, he was just a kid…" John looked back up at his flatmate, pain in his eyes. "He didn't deserve that. He was supposed to be safe; he wasn't supposed to be there."

Sherlock knelt down in front of John. "But he did not die in vain. The agent responsible for his death has been taken care of and SIP is crumbling without their director and their mutants."

"I killed him too," John said softly. "I killed Director Williams."

Sherlock tilted his head. "Well, it's not like he didn't deserve it after all he's done."

"That's not the  _point_ , Sherlock. I-I didn't even  _mean_  to do it." Sherlock was admittedly a bit surprised by that. "I just…I was so angry. I was scared. I didn't even realize I had done it." John shook his head. "Sherlock, I can't…I can't control—"

"Then you'll learn to. If we can't get rid of it, we'll learn to live with it. Better you to have these powers than Director Williams." That actually got a brief smile from John. Sherlock got back to his feet. "Clean yourself up and get some rest, John. You have your first SHIELD appointment tomorrow." John chuckled as he got to his feet. "You think they'll have you consult with the Avengers?"

John visibly blanched at the question. "What? Uh, no. No way, I-I'm not." He shook his head. "I hardly want to get involved with that lot after everything that happened with the Sakovia Accords."

"Well you've managed to deal with  _me_  this long; you could handle a few unruly superheroes no problem."

John grinned. "Damn right, I could." He shrugged. "But I'd take dealing with you over a pissed off Avenger any day." Sherlock grinned back as John made his way up to his room.


End file.
